


the beginning of everything

by thedeathchamber



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Angst, Artist Harry, Bottom Louis, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Jealous Harry, M/M, Romance, Writer Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathchamber/pseuds/thedeathchamber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How do you take it?” Harry asked, pouring tea into a cup.</p><p>“Just a dash of milk, please,” Louis cast a look over the small table, filled to capacity. “They’re very fond of you.”</p><p>Harry ducked his head, grinning. “They’re trying to impress you.”</p><p>Louis smiled, shaking his head. “Why would they want to do that?” he asked as he took the cup Harry passed to him, their fingers brushing for an instant.</p><p>“Empathy,” Harry said under his breath.</p><p>--</p><p>A Belle Époque AU set (mostly) in Paris in which Harry is a struggling artist, in more ways than one, and Louis is a successful theatre critic and a failed writer, more or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream I don’t remember which involved Niall and a tandem bicycle. It somehow led to this. Which doesn’t have all that much of Niall and has no tandem bicycles at all. But there you go. 
> 
> For a bit of context at the time this story takes place (1908) the process of residential electrification is still in its early stages (and yet the Eiffel Tower was lit by thousands of electric lamps by 1900!); horse-drawn carriages are still in use alongside cars; in terms of fashion it’s a moment of change from the restrictive Victorian style to the 20th century focus on freedom and comfort; the first portable cameras for widespread use became available; the film industry was just beginning: films were silent and lasted a few minutes, and although there were a few cinemas, films were still usually played in music hall theatres along with other forms of entertainment or in itinerant screenings.
> 
> On a side note, the ‘period typical’ homophobia in this fic is kept to the bare minimum. There’s still enough of it today that I feel justified wanting to avoid it in my writing. In any case, Paris was one of the most LGBT friendly cities in the world, so. 
> 
> I can’t think of anything to warn for in terms of triggers, but please let me know if there is something that should be tagged. 
> 
> Anyway. I had fun writing this, and I hope some other people out there might enjoy it. Comments are more than welcome. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Title from this quote by painter Ellsworth Kelly: _When I see a white piece of paper, I feel I've got to draw. And drawing, for me, is the beginning of everything._
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr post](http://louehvolution.tumblr.com/post/149717499916/ten-days-to-remember-a-lifetime-with-you-is-all-i)

Harry hovered at the edges of the crowd, peering between towering constructions of flowers and lace, top hats, and glistening pomaded hair. He ran his fingers through his own hair, rather too long to be fashionable, and tugged down the cuffs of his suit, which was tight at the shoulders and worn around the elbows, the light wool pilling all along the underside of the forearm.

Sunshine streamed into the auction room from the vaulted glass ceiling, making the crystal chandeliers glitter and any metal in the room glint and flash as it was held up for inspection. Harry inhaled sharply through his nose when he noticed the young woman holding up the silver hand mirror with its painted porcelain back piece. He sprang into action, scrambling toward them, mumbling half-formed apologies as he made his way through the crowd.

The auction house manager was distracted from his conversation as he caught sight of Harry bounding over to the young couple, gesticulating extravagantly and a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth even as it moved in animated speech. The manager, Mr Dupont, frowned and excused himself.

“Mr Styles, _s’il vout plaît_.” Mr Dupont offered a courteous nod to the couple, with a thin, unnatural smile on his face. “A word.”

He led Harry to a side, but the couple scurried off, muttering. With a sigh, Mr Dupont shepherded Harry to the far end of the hall.

“Mr Styles, we discussed this. This is the third time—you’re only going to frighten away potential buyers if you harass them with your stories.”

Harry hung his head, pulling at his bottom lip. He looked up with a slight crease between his eyebrows. “Don’t the people who buy antiques want to know their history?” he argued. “I need to know that I’m selling to someone who cares.”

The manager raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “All that should concern you is selling to someone who can pay, Mr Styles.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “We agreed. You said I could meet the buyer.”

“Yes. _After_ they have made the purchase, preferably.” Mr Dupont eyed him with clear contempt. “You admitted you were pressed for money, and unless you wish to go home empty-handed—and might I remind you the commission to the auction house is non-refundable—I suggest you follow my instructions and _stay away_.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek but nodded, keeping his head down.

“Why don’t you have a seat?”

Harry sank into the chair, flushing when the security guard to whom the chair belonged caught his eye.

The manager stared down at Harry doubtfully. “Stay here,” he said firmly.

Harry grunted in response, resting his chin on his fist.

“Where did you leave your things anyway?” Mr Dupont asked while he took the chance to adjust his tie and smooth down his moustache.

Harry’s head gave a painful jerk as his elbow slid off his leg. “My sketchbook!” He jumped to his feet and dove into the crowd, jostling people left and right and too panicked to apologize. He froze in horror at the sight of a man with Harry’s sketchbook in his hands, flipping through the pages.

Harry leapt toward him without a second thought, reaching over his shoulder to pluck the sketchbook out of his hands. “That’s mine. Sorry. _Désolé_.”

The man turned around in surprise, eyes as round as his black frame glasses. “No French, please. It’s good to hear English.” He had an Irish accent and an easy smile. “I thought the art might come with writing desk, since it was in one of the drawers.”

“I... I forgot it there. It’s not for sale,” Harry stammered, hugging the drawing pad to his chest.

“All right, mate. My mistake.”

“You haven’t seen my hat—?” Harry began, just as a voice, light and full of laughter, called out behind Harry: 'Niall, come look at this!'

“Better go check that out.” Niall tipped his hat at Harry, still smiling, and walked around him toward his friend.

Harry watched him join another young man, whose back was toward him. He had his hip cocked to a side, one hand at his waist and the other waving around in his conversation. Harry couldn’t help himself from sweeping his gaze down this man’s figure, following with his eyes the lines of a trim waist and the flare of his suit jacket over the curve of his arse.

The Irish man and his friend moved on, and Harry trudged back to his place by the far wall, holding his sketchbook to his chest, head down. He plonked down on the chair with a sigh, ignoring the guard’s shameless staring.

After a moment, he opened the sketchbook on his lap, balancing it on his knee. He scanned the crowd as he reached into his pocket, taking out a piece of charcoal stick, smudging black onto his fingers as he unwrapped it from the bit of newspaper. Harry’s whole posture changed as he put the charcoal to the paper and started drawing: a few broad lines for the movement of a woman’s dress; the rough outline of two children scampering around while their parents did business.

Niall ambled into view, a grin on his face, tilted to a side as he spoke to his friend. For an instant his companion’s face was obscured by a passing gentleman with broad shoulders, then by the monstrous flowers in a woman’s hat. Harry’s hand went still over the paper when he finally saw him: his angular face just breaking into a smile, bright and contagious even from more than fifteen feet away.

The next moment his hand went flying over the paper; he got down the barest sketch of the young man before he was out of sight as people milled around, hiding him from view once again. Harry released a tremulous breath, looking down at the few lines he’d managed to get down, rubbing his thumb over the worn edge of the sketchbook in a reverie.

 

“Mr Styles?”

Mr Dupont stuck his head between the curtains at the guard’s encouraging nod and called out. Harry had sneaked out onto the balcony and was looking out at the street, leaning on the handrail, drumming his fingers on the cover of his sketchbook.

The floor of the balcony was strewn with flower petals, damp and turning brown around the edges. A gust of wind created a small, fleeting whirlwind in the balcony, scattering flower petal into the air. A few petals got stuck to Harry’s hair and the shoulders of his suit.

“ _Mr Styles_.”

Harry turned around, startled. “Oh. Yes, Monsieur Dupont?”

The manager didn’t bother to contain an expression of distaste at Harry’s appearance. “You’ve got a buyer, Mr Styles.”

“Oh. _Oh!_ ” Harry walked over to him, damp flower petals clinging to the toe of his shoes. “Can I meet them?”

Mr Dupont nodded. “I mentioned your... request. And they were interested in meeting you as well.”

“That’s great!” Harry’s face broke into a wide smile as he stepped back into the room.

Harry followed the manager down a set of corridors in silence, sketchbook under his arm. Mr Dupont opened the door and motioned Harry inside. It was a small but luxurious office, decorated in the Louis XVI style, with carved white wood and gold gilding. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the room.

Harry gave a start when he recognized the two people sitting on the settee.

Niall gave a short bark of laughter when he saw Harry. “You!”

Harry found himself locking eyes with Niall’s friend, who stared at him with a strange look on his face, as though he were on the verge of laughter—but his eyes were a little too wide.

Harry had to force himself to look away from the very blue eyes. He fidgeted in place, shooting quick glances around the room. He bit his lip when he noticed the hat peg in the corner, aborting the reflex to run his fingers through his uncovered hair.

“If I may present Mr Horan and Mr Tomlinson.” The manager introduced them. “Mr Styles.”

“Harry, please. It’s nice to meet you, Mr Horan.” Harry extended his hand to Niall.

Niall got to his feet and grabbed his forearm instead of his hand, giving him a hearty shake. “Call me Niall.”

His companion stood up as well, offering Harry his hand. “Louis.”

“It’s a p-pleasure,” Harry stammered, grimacing when he heard himself talking.

Louis bit back a smile. “The shy artist. Niall mentioned you.”

Harry ducked his head, his fingers twitching around Louis’. “Ah, I suppose.”

Louis looked almost as shocked as Harry when he turned Harry’s wrist to expose the underside of his hand, which was black with charcoal dust.

“Bit of a giveaway, Mr Styles, if the sketchbook left any room for doubt,” Louis said with a nervous grin, his eyes flitting to the sketchbook still tucked under Harry’s arm.

It startled a honk of laughter out of Harry, which made him clap a hand over his mouth, then wince at the probability of having smudged charcoal dust all over his face.

“You’re fine,” Niall assured him, laughing. He handed Harry a soft yellow striped handkerchief.

“Thanks.” Harry wiped the lower half of his face, but he couldn’t look away from Louis, whose face was scrunched up in amicable amusement.

“Gentlemen.” The manager cleared his throat. “The deal is almost finalised, if you’d care to sign the contract of sale.”

Harry frowned a little, crumpling Niall’s handkerchief in his hand. “I wanted to talk to them for a few minutes, if that’s all right.”

Mr Dupont pursed his lips, then opened his mouth, prepared to argue.

Niall cut him off. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said shamelessly, motioning toward the door.

The manager’s lips tightened again, but he gave a curt nod and left.

“Now that he’s out of our hair...” Niall looked down at the silver coffee set spread out on the short table before the couch: there were still a few biscuits in a plate and coffee in both cups—one of them was practically untouched, sitting full in its saucer. “Can I offer you—” he began, then broke off when he realised that a third cup had not been set out for Harry.

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” Harry said quickly.

Niall’s frown lasted mere seconds. “Let’s sit.” He plopped back down on the settee after giving Louis a push to do the same. Harry caught when Louis rolled his eyes as he settled in his seat, a little confused when he then gave Niall’s knee a quick, friendly pat without even looking at him.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Louis prompted, catching Harry staring at him.

Harry twisted his fingers in his lap. “I wanted to... tell you a story. If that’s all right?”

“About the things you’re selling?” Niall asked, leaning back and getting comfortable.

Harry nodded. “They belonged to my grandmother. Her name was Anna. She moved to Paris from Poland when she was married, and lived here until she died. She spent her time raising money for orphanages and asylums. And she still spent hours playing the piano at seventy-six.” He clutched the sketchbook in his lap in a tight grip. “She was—I got to know her only in the last years of her life... but she was very kind to me.”

When Harry summoned the strength to look up from his lap, he saw Louis staring at him: he had a gentle, sympathetic expression on his face, and was obviously giving Harry his full attention.

“I wouldn’t sell if... if I—” Harry broke off. “It has emotional value. And I want to make sure it goes to someone who’ll appreciate what it’s really worth.”

Niall made a thoughtful noise when Harry finished talking. “Look, Harry, I’m not going to lie. This is my business, buying and selling antiques—it’s what I do.”

Harry’s grip on the drawing pad tightened, the edges of the paper digging into his fingers.

“But it’s not all about the money,” Niall went on. “I know what I buy are bits of history. Maybe not the grand ‘war and peace’ history, but personal history. Bits of people’s lives. I like to think I respect that.”

Harry’s posture relaxed and a smile crept onto his face. “Thank you, Niall.”

“It’s not going to end up as scrap metal,” Louis put in in a light tone.

Harry’s smile widened into a proper grin. “I appreciate that.”

“So we’re good?” Niall pulled out his pocket-watch. “Sorry to rush you, Harry, but I’ve still got a few purchases I want to make.”

Harry reached for the contract, sliding it over the surface of the table toward him. “Yes, of course. Thanks for... indulging me.”

Niall handed him the pen. “Not at all.”

Harry signed, then waited while Niall skimmed through the contract again.

“Are you in Paris for long?” Harry blurted out, addressing Louis who was sitting, bouncing his left leg over his knee.

“Twelve days. I’m still not certain if that’s long or not. We arrived two days ago and I already find myself missing English tea, though, so not the most auspicious beginning.”

“That your cup?” Harry pointed at the full cup of diluted coffee.

Louis breathed out a self-conscious laugh. “Yes. Not my cup of tea. Literally.”

Harry cackled, then shook his head. “Honestly, though. There’s so much to see in Paris. You could spend a lifetime here and still find something new.”

“Is that so?”

“Or at least a new way of looking at something old. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think I do,” Louis said in a thoughtful tone, looking at Harry with a small smile.

“It never stops surprising you. The things you see... the people you meet...”

They were both startled into breaking their eye contact at the rattle of the silverware on the table. Niall straightened from where he’d bent down to pick up the pen from the floor, knocking the top of his head against the table again. “Ah, shit.”

Harry leapt to his feet, self-conscious. “All done, then?”

“Signed deal.”

Louis stood up in a more dignified manner, shooting Harry a glance from under his eyelashes while smoothing down a crease from the front of his waistcoat.

Harry struggled to swallow with his throat dry. “I—”

“How long have you been living here, then?” Niall asked, catching Harry by surprise.

“Erm, three years now.”

“And what is it you do?”

Harry tugged at the cuffs of his suit, clearing his throat. “I... I work at the... museum?”

“At The Louvre?”

Harry’s face contorted for an instant before he gave a slow, hesitant nod.

“Oh. Maybe you could give us a tour?” Louis asked, the tiniest hint of a waver in his voice betraying the attempt at nonchalance.

Niall’s head whipped around to stare at Louis in shock. Harry looked from Niall back to Louis, whose voice went a little high and rushed. “Don’t feel obligated. You must be so busy. You’ve probably got better things to do than show around a pair of philistines like us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Niall interjected in mock indignation. “I know art!”

Louis managed a pained laugh through a mortified expression. “Sorry, Niall. You do.”

Harry shook his head frantically, regaining his power of speech. “No, I’d love to. I really would. Please, I’d love to give you a guided tour.”

Louis bit his lip. “I really don’t know much about art.”

“It’s not about how much you know, but whether you’re interested in learning. Are you? Interested?” Harry pressed, breath coming a little short.

Louis blinked at him, slow and deliberate. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Yes,” Harry echoed without thinking.

“Right.” Niall gave a cough. “It’s settled then. We’re going to the Louvre tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reference for men's fashion at the time: [here](http://www.insidehistory.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/12.-Postcard-c.1902-06-Claire-Dulanty.jpg).  
> Women and their hats: [here](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/01/ed/e9/01ede9d2b39aa9a11c2f130ad8a687ca.jpg).


	2. Chapter 2

Harry peered out into the street from beneath the arched entrance of the _Portes des Lions_. The street was deserted of pedestrians and even the traffic was scarce: a few cars lumbering past with their convertible tops drenched, and a lonely hansom cab which hurried down the street with a clatter of hooves and a splash of rainwater as the horse stepped into a puddle.

“I can’t believe it’s raining,” Harry grouched. “One of the ugliest days we’ve had this month.”

In spite of the relentless rain, the sun was shining dully, casting a yellow, sickly glow.

“Summer ends in two days. What do you expect?” The porter leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. Safe from the rain in his booth, he laced his fingers behind his head, straining the material of his uniform. “What’s the problem, anyway? It’s the perfect weather to visit a museum, if you ask me.”

Harry shot him an indignant frown. “It is _not_. The lighting’s all off—especially for the statuary.” He shook rainwater from the surface of his shoe in an impatient movement. “And there will be no visiting the gardens now, either.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “Stop whining, lad. And don’t you have bigger concerns than the weather?”

Harry squinted at the street as a car trundled past. “Like what?” he asked, distracted.

“Like the fact that you’re a little liar who’s getting in for free only ‘cause I’ve a weak spot for your sorry arse.”

“You’re getting one of Emmeline’s fish pies. Don’t pretend it’s all out of the goodness of your heart.”

Paul raised his thick eyebrows at Harry and pointed two fingers at him. “You keep that up and I’m gonna charge you double—for pretendin’ to work at this fine establishment.”

Harry gave a weak chuckle, fiddling with the collar of his shirt to relieve the pressure on his throat. “Don’t judge me. And it got me a chance to court him, didn’t it? More or less.”

“More or less is right. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Styles.”

“I know.” Harry sighed. “But wait till you see him and you’ll understand. He’s a work of art all by himself.”

Paul snorted. “You disgust me. And I’ll take your word for it—can’t say I’ve ever been taken in by pretty boys, myself.”

“Except me,” Harry chirped with a disarming grin. “I charmed you from the start.”

Paul groaned. “Worst decision I ever made, letting you talk my ear off that day. Lord. It’s like I let the devil into my house.”

Harry’s laughter echoed in the stone passage. “I’m like the son you never had, Paul.”

“Thank goodness if he was gonna turn out the likes of you.” Though his tone was gruff there was fondness in his eyes as he looked at Harry.

Harry didn’t answer, tensing up all of a sudden. Paul pushed himself out of his chair and leaned out as much as he could out of the booth to see what Harry was looking at. A lone figure had arrived in a taxi cab across the street and was paying the driver, door half open and one leg out of the car.

“Is that him then?”

Harry nodded dumbly.

“You gonna let him get wet?” Paul stretched his arm out of the booth to snap his fingers in front of Harry’s face.

Horrified, Harry made a grab for his umbrella, which had been resting against the wall, and dashed out into the street to meet Louis, who was left standing in the rain as the cab left.

“Louis!” Harry called, too out of breath for such a short sprint. He skirted around a passing car that honked at him and reached Louis with his arm stretched out in front of him, holding the umbrella for Louis.

“Hi.” Louis smiled at him, his eyes light grey instead of blue in the rain. “I think that umbrella’s big enough for both of us, Harry.”

Harry’s nervous giggle was high-pitched. “Oh, yes. Oops.”

They walked across the street to the museum entrance side by side, both under the umbrella.

“Niall won’t be joining us, but he sends his regards,” Louis said, taking off his top hat.

Harry stopped mid motion of shaking off the water from his umbrella. “Niall’s not coming?”

Paul snorted from inside his booth.

“We were at lunch with some people Niall’s doing business with and it was running late. But I made my excuses and left. I didn’t want to leave you waiting.”

Harry tucked a bit of hair, which was curling more than usual because of the humidity, behind his ear. “I would have understood. Business is business, after all.”

Louis shrugged. “It’s not my business, really. It’s Niall’s. No one was going to miss me, anyway, and... and I wanted to see you.” His eyes went wide before he ducked his head, pulling at the flaps of his suit jacket in a nervous gesture. “The museum, I mean.”

Harry’s mouth curled into a lopsided grin. “Well. I’m very glad you could make it. Come on, there’s a lot to see.” He reached for Louis’ elbow but did nothing more than let his fingertips brush against the soft, light wool.

“Don’t we need tickets?”

“Not when you’re with me,” Harry said with exaggerated, mock bravado.

Louis rolled his eyes but giggled, watching Harry’s theatrics with a smile.

Harry went red when Paul caught his eye, shaking his head at him with an unimpressed look on his face. “Good day, Paul,” he said quickly, ushering Louis past him with a hand hovering over his elbow still.  
  
They walked down the hall, footsteps echoing on the marble floors. The main passage was bordered at either side by towering columns, between each of them a statue. Harry opened his mouth several times as they zigzagged between the statues, but said nothing.

“Well?” Louis prompted after a few minutes.

“Sorry?”

“Aren’t you going to explain?” Louis replied. “I can see you bursting with knowledge you’re eager to share.”

Harry burst into laughter, then made a face. “I don’t want to bore you,” he admitted, pulling at his lower lip.

“Don’t be silly. Enlighten me.” Louis gave a flourishing half-bow.

Harry couldn’t keep the grin off his face as they walked up to the first statue. “Well, this is...”

 

They spent two hours drifting through the museum, up and down grand, sweeping staircases and vast halls.

Louis came to a stop before a statue of a woman with her arms outstretched toward a winged man, who bent over her in an urgent embrace.

“You like it?” Harry asked, coming up to stand beside him, close enough that their arms were pressed together.

“It’s beautiful,” Louis breathed. He turned in place to gesture at the room at large. “All of it.” Then he gave a snort of laughter and walked over to lean against the balustrade. “I just didn’t expect there to be so many stairs.”

Harry giggled. “Oh, yes. It really works your calves.”

Louis’ smile seemed a little off to Harry whose own smile dimmed in response.

“You love this place,” Louis said quietly.

Harry nodded without hesitation. “It’s one of a kind.”

“It’s a dream position for you here, then, isn’t it?”

Harry managed a strained half-smile. “Hm. What about you? What is it you do?”

Louis brightened. “I’m very lucky too. I get paid for giving my opinions. And I _do_ have a lot of those.”

Harry reached out to swat Louis’ shoulder, his touch feather light. “I’m certain they’re all very valuable,” he teased.

Louis pulled a face, scrunching up his nose. "Funny."

“Your opinion on what, though?”

“Theatre.” Louis shifted his stance with a slight wince, looking up briefly at the glass ceiling. The rain seemed to have let off and weak sunlight was shining through. “I wanted to be an actor when I was a child.”

“What happened?”

“I discovered it paid better to write.”

“Oh.”

Louis chuckled at Harry’s obvious disappointment. “Not really, Harry. I just—I lost my taste for the spotlight and acquired one for the pen. It wasn’t really a choice.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Art is a calling more than a choice, in the end.”

He lost himself studying the statue of Psyche and Cupid—the entwined circles of their arms and their faces tilted toward each other—until he felt Louis watching him.

Louis’ smile was soft. “Tell me about your favorite statue here. And please tell me it’s close?”

Harry let himself grin, and reached out for Louis, gripping his elbow at last. “Just around the corner.”

 

Louis let Harry guide him down another hall and up and down another set of stairs, listening and commenting while Harry went on with his lecture. Harry was about to take them up another staircase when he came to an abrupt halt. He turned to Louis in horror. “You must be tired. I’ve been talking for ages!” he moaned.

Louis laughed. “You’re very passionate. It’s nice.”

Harry felt the heat of his cheeks under his palms. “I’m sorry. I’m not that great with words. I talk too slow. I go off on a tangent. I take too long to get to the point...”

Louis touched two fingers to Harry’s wrist, encouraging him to lower his hands from his face. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to sit through boring conversation. It’s how I make my living, half the time. And this wasn’t it.” His eyes flicked to Harry’s lips. “I was hanging onto every word. And you have a pleasant voice, if nothing else, at least.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “Thank you—I think.”

Louis giggled, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “It was a compliment, I promise.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, before he composed himself. “All the same, I’ve been talking for too long: my voice is shot. I definitely want to hear _you_ now. If you’ll join me for tea?”

Louis pouted. “You mean coffee.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows. “No. I actually mean tea. I know a place.”

Louis’ face broke into a dazzling grin. “In that case, please, lead the way.”

 

“We’re almost there,” Harry assured Louis. Walking almost backward to keep Louis in sight he bumped his shoulder into the brick wall when he turned the corner into another narrow street.

“I’d go far for a cuppa.” Louis gave Harry a pointed look. “And you promised me a good cuppa.”

“I did. And I’m a man of my word, as you will see.” Harry took hold of Louis’ elbow again and guided him to the front of a small shop at the end of a cul-de-sac.

They stood in front of a wooden door painted blue with a golden knocker and two narrow, long windows at either side.

“Here we are. I know it doesn’t look like much, but…”

Louis gave a breath of laughter. “I trust you.”

Harry’s breath caught mid-inhalation. “Right.” He hurried to open the door.

It was warm and fragrant inside the tiny tea shop. A handful of flowers in a small porcelain vase on every table and chairs upholstered in cream coloured fabric with a blue floral pattern.

A man in a cheap but neat suit sat on a stool behind the counter, startled out of his doze as the bell above the door tinkled. “G’evening. _Bon soir, monsieurs_.”   
He squinted at Harry and clapped a hand on the counter top. “Veronique! It’s our boy.” He knocked on the door behind him, which was pushed ajar. “With a friend!” he added in incredulous tones.

“A friend? Not Liam?” Veronique had a thick French accent; she came out of the kitchen wearing a gingham apron over her generous figure and wiping flour off her hands with a dish rag.

“Louis.” Louis extended his hand in greeting with a smile.

“Oooh! _Français_?” She clasped his fingers and drew him in for two kisses, getting flour on his clothes.

Harry and Louis both laughed.

“No, sorry. Englishman, I’m afraid,” Louis said, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “My mum is rather keen on history and a great admirer of French royalty, if you’ll believe it.”

“Hm. Best not mention that round these parts, lad.” The man’s moustache twitched with suppressed laughter. “I’m Matthew Graham. At your service.”

“Tomlinson. Thank you.”

Matt thumped Harry on the back after shaking hands with Louis. “Take a seat, then. We’ll have your tea out in a jiffy.”

Louis started to drape his suit jacket on the back of the closest chair, but Veronique clapped her hands and rushed forward to stop him. “Oh, no. The best place is over by the window. It’s got the most comfortable chairs.”

She ushered Louis over to the appointed table, while Harry followed, giggling. “Only the best for our Harry and his friend.”

“Thanks, Vee.” Harry said with a beatific smile. Veronique pinched his cheek before darting back into the kitchen.

“Fancy a cigar, lad?” Matt called over from where he’d settled back in his stool.

Louis stifled laughter. “No, thank you. Just tea is fine.”

Harry relaxed in his seat, smiling at Louis from across the table.

Louis nudged his foot under the table. “I take it you’re a frequent patron?”

“I’ve known them for years. Matt is Paul’s brother—Paul from the museum?”

“Oh, and his French wife who makes English tea?”

Harry chuckled. “She’s a rare breed: a French anglophile.”

Louis laughed, throwing his head back.

“What joyful laugh: ha ha ha,” Veronique commented, setting out the porcelain tea set while balancing the tray on her hip. “What you say so funny, Harry, dear?”

They both laughed harder at that. Veronique only smiled, indulgent, before leaving for the kitchen again.

“English tea and French pastries: best of both worlds.” Louis grinned, picking up a small, raspberry tartlet.

Harry popped one whole in his mouth. “They’re delicious.”

“These look lovely, Mrs Graham,” Louis told her as she returned to their table with buttered bread and sponge cake, both still warm.

Veronique chucked Louis’ chin. “ _Mercie_. Eat up!”

“How do you take it?” Harry asked, pouring tea into a cup.

“Just a dash of milk, please,” Louis cast a look over the small table, filled to capacity. “They’re _very_ fond of you.”

Harry ducked his head, grinning. “They’re trying to impress you.”

Louis smiled, shaking his head. “Why would they want to do that?” he asked as he took the cup Harry passed to him, their fingers brushing for an instant.

“Empathy,” Harry said under his breath.

Louis brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip. “Mmm.”

“Up to standards?”

“It’s perfect.”

They had tea and light conversation. Matt, engrossed in his newspaper in the background, told them off twice for laughing too loud. Neither of them paid any mind to the time until Louis jumped at the sound of the mantel clock striking seven.

“Shit. I’ve got go. I didn’t realize it was so late!” Louis said, on his feet and reaching for his wallet.

Harry stood up as well and reached out to tap Louis’ arm. “Don’t, please. My treat. Especially since I’ve made you late.”

Louis pulled out a few coins. “A tip,” Louis explained when Harry opened his mouth to protest. “And you’ve not made me late. I lost track of time.” Louis smiled at him from beneath his eyelashes while he pocketed his wallet. “I was enjoying myself so much.”

Harry beamed. “Will I see you again? When are you free?” he asked, tripping over the words in his eagerness.

“Tomorrow? I’m free all day,” Louis replied immediately. “Niall has business outside the city, but maybe you could show me around?”

Harry nodded, holding his wallet limp in his hand, completely forgotten. “You want me to be your personal guide?” he teased.

Louis tried to school his face into something resembling exasperation but failed. “Might as well. I suppose you’ve proved your worth with this place.”

Harry couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll help you find a cab.”

 

Harry threw the door open, letting it swing shut behind him, suit jacket slung over one shoulder and shoes wet from the walk back from the tea shop.  
“Emmeline! I’m home!” Harry called, unbuttoning his shirt collar as he walked down the narrow corridor toward the kitchen with a bounce to his step.  
  
The apartment house had seen a lot of use since its construction over half a century before. It was a narrow building that spread vertically: four stories tall with rooms rented out in each except for the ground level which held a grocer’s store.

“Of course you are. I can always count on you to be home for dinner, you rascal.” Emmeline greeted him in French, without any real rancor, looking up from where she was ironing clothes by the stove. She was a handsome woman in her late thirties, dignified in a manner incongruous with her cheap, worn clothing.

“Only because I love your cooking so much, Emmie.”

 “Naturally,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Look at the state of those shoes. You better set them out to dry by the radiator. Give them here.”

“Thanks.” Harry hopped in place, pulling off his shoes.

“Now hurry up to your room. You’ve got company.”

“Liam’s here?”

She made a sound of assent and pointed with her chin at a bottle of wine and a glass jar with a fresh bouquet of carnations. “He came by a while ago, trying to bribe me.”

Harry laughed. “What did he want?”

“He wanted me to iron his good shirt. He doesn’t trust that new girl he has up at his place, and I’m not surprised.”

Harry bit back a grin. “What would we do without you?”

Emmeline shrugged, expression disinterested. “I don’t know. Useless and more trouble than you’re worth. You and Liam both.”

Harry put a hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded. “I’m feeling the love; you should get together with Paul.”

“None of that. You think I don’t know that that man has designs upon my person?” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve had it with balding old men.” Her expression turned mischievous as she cast Harry a pointed look. “Your hair is getting quite long. And how old did you say you were? Twenty-two?”

Harry raced up the narrow, winding stairs, laughing. The wood creaked and the banister shook in some parts as he put his weight on it. He lived up in the attic: a single white-washed room with the peeling wallpaper still visible and a tiny bathroom the extent of his lodgings.

Liam was waiting for him inside, straddling the spindle-back chair backwards while whistling an upbeat tune. He set down the book he’d been flipping through back on the tottering stack on the floor when Harry came into the room. There was little furniture: a drawing table, a small armoire, a mismatched pair of chairs, and the bed—rusting iron cast frame and plain white bedding.

Liam was surprised into laughter at the sight of Harry bursting into the room, excitable and still grinning. “Hello, sunshine. You’re in a good mood.”

Harry tossed his suit jacket onto the bed. “Very. I had a good day.”

Liam did a double take. “That suit—I haven’t seen you in that in years. I thought you’d sold it.”

Harry shrugged, peeling off his collar and unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I kept a couple of my good suits. Just in case. They don’t fit like they used to, though.” He chuckled as he stepped out of his trousers.

Liam nodded, unfazed by Harry stripping. “So what’s the occasion?” he asked.

“Just, you know. Went out.” Harry’s voice was muffled as he dropped onto the bed face down.

Liam lobbed a bit of a broken, dirty rubber at him. “Spill. Did you get a good price at the auction yesterday? Someone nice bought your gran’s stuff?”

Harry stretched his back with a groan, wiggling his toes. “Yeah, actually. An Irish bloke.”

“But that’s not why you’re…”

Harry lifted his head to see Liam wave his arms toward Harry in a vague gesture. Harry giggled. “No. I had the best time with his friend today. We went to the Louvre and then for tea. And it was… it was really nice.”

A slow grin spread across Liam’s face. “It’s nice making new friends.”

Harry’s answering laugh was tinged with a hint of wistfulness. “Yes.”

“Are you seeing him again?” Liam asked with a knowing look, his voice gentle.

“Tomorrow! I’m taking him around the city.” Harry rolled onto his back and punched the air, excitement back in full force. The next moment he let out a heaving, awed sigh and dropped his arms back on the bed. “He promised me all day.”

“That’s sweet, H.” Liam rubbed the palm of his hand over the top of his head, smoothing down the shot curls. “Why don’t you bring him to the Buddha on Saturday?”

Harry turned his head in a slow movement, a thoughtful frown on his face as he studied Liam carefully. Liam squirmed but the corners of his mouth were twitching and Harry’s face cleared, mouth falling open in realisation. “Did they ask you to perform?”

Liam nodded his head up and down quickly. “Pyotr canceled and they’re letting me fill in!”

Harry jumped to his feet and rushed over to embrace Liam. “Your big break. No more mixing drinks at the bar—they’ll chain you to the piano once they hear you sing.”

Liam squished his own cheeks with the palms of his hands, grinning. “You’ll come?”

“Yes, of course! I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I can probably get you free drinks,” Liam sing-songed. “For you and your friend.”

Harry cackled. “That’s why I’m going.”

Liam messed up his hair, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what cars looked like back then: [wild](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DT7Qw2-UiQQ/TjD3ecN_3dI/AAAAAAABofM/UBlGP5NzGyA/s1600/Franklin+Model+D+touring-car.jpg). Here have [some](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aYlibMDIR6s/TlBmYikpmBI/AAAAAAABpoI/pmW39aL2ubY/s1600/teddy+roosevelt+in+a+1910+mitchell.jpg) [more](http://www.svvs.org/genpics16/1908_Humber_10'12_Tourer.jpg).  
> A taximeter car/cab back in the day looked like this, [for example](https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OwI-IPSvucU/Vzk0tsWO4YI/AAAAAAAAC-k/MuCF20KfYvsRzkkmjTHh6bHkFyMIG3a-wCKgB/s1600/The%2BHorseless%2BAge%2BSeptember%2B11%2B1907%2Bpage%2B337%2B-%2Bnew%2Btaximeter%2Bcabs%2B-%2Bgasoline%2Bpowered.jpg).  
> And this is a [hansom](http://i4.hinckleytimes.net/incoming/article10982115.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/hansom-cab.jpg).


	3. Chapter 3

Louis stumbled out of the cab, hair still damp, knuckling his eyes and blinking blearily in the pale sunlight.

“G’morning,” he rasped, walking up to Harry.

The soft smile that appeared on Harry’s face in response was completely spontaneous. “Hi.”

“I got your telegram. Up at the break of dawn and no breakfast. This better be worth it,” Louis groused, shivering in the early morning chill.

“You won’t regret it. I’m taking you to feast on the best croissant and hot chocolate in Paris,” Harry said in a playfully grandiose manner.

Louis considered him for a moment, one eyebrow raised, before his mouth twitched and he cracked a smile. “All right. I trust you.”

Harry clapped his hands together, bouncing on his heels. “I’ve got the whole day planned.”

“How efficient,” Louis teased.

Harry swept his new boater hat off his head and took a mock bow. “At your service.”

Louis giggled. “Go on then! I’m starving and cold. You better deliver, Styles.”

Harry took a deep breath and in a fit of boldness, reached out to palm the back of Louis’ neck and draw him closer. The collar of his shirt was a little damp where water had dripped from the ends of his hair. “Don’t worry about a thing. I hope you brought comfortable shoes?”

Louis leaned into Harry’s touch, stepping closer so that their bodies brushed while they walked even after Harry reluctantly let his hand drop once he’d set them in motion in the right direction.

“There’s lots of walking planned, is there?” Louis asked, with a hint of apprehension which gave Harry a moment’s pause.

Harry nudged his hip. “It’s the only way to get to know the city.”

“But breakfast first?”

“Without question.”  


After breakfast, warmed up by the hot chocolate, they set off for a slow walk along a street lined with artists, the smell of oil paints and turpentine mixing with those wafting from the patisseries and restaurants.

“What do you draw?” Louis asked out of the blue as they passed an old man working on a charcoal drawing.

Harry ducked his head, avoiding Louis’ curious gaze. “Oh, um. I don’t know.”

Louis blinked at him. “Right.”

Harry grimaced. “I mean. I’m not... I’m not a professional. I—Sometimes I see something and I can’t help but want to draw it, or take a picture.”

Louis offered him a soothing smile. “You’re a photographer too? Where’s your camera?” he said, voice light.

Harry had to smile back. “You wouldn’t mind if I brought it with me?”

“Of course not. I’d love to see your work, though. Will you show me some time? I didn’t get to see it at the auction.”

Harry almost knocked off his hat when he went to run his fingers through his hair, dithering.

“Harry—” Louis said quickly. “You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I will. I don’t mind showing _you_.” He coughed around the tightness in his throat. “I'm comfortable with you, Lou.”

Louis smiled wide enough for the crinkles around his eyes to appear and then kept smiling, bright and relaxed, as they continued their walk toward Notre Dame. Harry remained in a daze until they reached the cathedral.  


Although the heat of the sun had been welcome after the chill inside the cathedral, by noon it was scorching hot. Following the visit to the Luxembourg palace and gardens, they took refuge in a restaurant, eating lunch out on the pavement seating area under the dappled shade of some trees. They sampled a board of cheeses and wine, Louis pulling faces at the ones he didn’t like, making Harry laugh loud and often enough to make the waiter glare at them more than once.

Full and rested, Harry and Louis strolled over to Montparnasse.

“Let’s take a break?” Louis suggested after climbing out of the catacombs. “It’s too hot for walking right now.”

They bought ice cream cones from a street cart vendor and settled on a bench in the shade to eat it.

“How is it so hot today?” Louis whined, licking up his melting ice cream. “It was a different season only yesterday.” Harry crunched through the last bit of his cone.

“Paris weather,” he explained. “And this is the last breath of summer, don’t let anyone hear you complaining.”

Louis giggled, shoulders shaking. “That’s completely unreasonable; it’s fundamentally British to grumble about the weather.” He shoved what was left of the ice cream in his mouth when it started dripping.

Harry choked on his laughter, goggling at Louis when he raised his hand to his mouth and stuck out his tongue to lap up the ice cream from the back of his knuckles and the side of his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asked, looking up at Harry’s abrupt silence.

Harry licked his lips, distracted. “You’ve got a scar on your pinkie.”

Louis twisted his hand to check out the small scar on his finger. “I had a habit of climbing trees when I was little. It’s lucky that was the worst of my injuries, really.”

He startled when Harry reached for his hands, unabashed.

Harry traced the small raised scar on his pinkie, then went up and down each of Louis’ fingers, exploring every dip and crease and prominence. He rubbed the pad of his thumb in circles over the back of Louis’ hand. “You’ve got a callus.”

“From writing. I’ve got a typewriter, but I still do a lot of it by hand.” Louis’ answer was automatic, his attention focused on their hands.

After a moment, he turned Harry’s hands palm up in a slow, careful movement. His eyes went round as he inadvertently compared the size of their hands: his own appearing dwarfed on top of Harry’s.

Harry couldn’t stop the curl of his lips when he managed to catch Louis’ eye.

Louis held his gaze for a few seconds, then looked down. “You’ve got some calluses too.” His touch was feather-light on the inside of Harry’s palm. “Are these from draw—?”

He broke off as they were interrupted by a young couple asking for directions. Louis let go of Harry immediately to instead fidget with his clothes, keeping his head down while Harry answered, polite and charming.

“Hey. All right?” Harry asked with a lingering touch to Louis’ wrist once they were gone.

Louis chewed on his lower lip, but didn’t pull back when Harry circled his wrist in a loose hold. After a moment he looked up from his lap. “Yes. It’s only… things are… different here.”

Harry nodded. “They are.”

After a couple of minutes of thoughtful silence, Harry running two fingers up and down the smooth skin of Louis’ inner wrist all the while, Louis asked, “What’s next then?”

“ _Le Muséum national d'histoire naturelle_. It’s a bit of a walk, but—”

Though he didn’t snatch his hand back, Louis resisted when Harry tried to pull him to his feet. “How far is it?” he asked with a small frown.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe a half hour? But it’s a nice walk.”

“You know I’m here for more than a week still, right? We don’t have to do everything in one day,” Louis said, half-laughing, but his voice sounded strained.

“Sorry. I’m so used to walking everywhere.” Harry didn’t let go of Louis’ hand, keeping their fingers linked. “So there _will_ be more days?” he asked with a delighted grin. “Is this your way of requesting my services as a guide for the rest of your stay?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “You’re rather good company. Decent enough. As far as guides go.” He poked Harry in the side. “Get that grin off your face, you nitwit.”

Harry cackled. “Thanks for the compliment.”

Louis stuck his tongue out at him. “So how far ahead did you have planned anyway?”

Harry shrugged, sitting back down next to Louis, letting their knees touch. “Until however long you wanted to stay. All night if you wanted.”

Their eyes met—Harry’s unflinching despite the blush blooming on his face. Louis was unable to look away from Harry. “I think...” His eyes flickered to Harry’s lips. “I think... Niall would... worry if I didn’t get back,” he managed to get out finally.

Harry didn’t break eye contact. “But you’ll have dinner with me?”

Louis released his bottom lip from between his teeth. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

The grin that broke out on Harry’s face in response was wide enough to show most of his teeth, and it made Louis laugh before he stretched his back with a groan. “So where to then? Maybe somewhere a bit closer?”

Harry shook his head, leaning back and resting his arm along the back of the bench behind Louis. “Why don’t we just sit here for a while? It’s nice with the breeze.”

Louis ducked his head to try to hide his smile, then leaned back as well—not quite in the circle of Harry’s arm but close enough. “We’ve even got music.”

There was a ballet class going on in a flat somewhere near, and with the windows open, soft classical music from a gramophone reached them, drowned out by the passing cars every little while.

“I know the perfect place for dinner nearby,” Harry commented, the breeze playing with the curls around his ears.

Louis nodded agreeably. “And the museum of natural history tomorrow?”

Harry hummed, waggling his eyebrows mysteriously. “I think I’d rather surprise you.”

Louis pinched his side. “Not if I can get it out of you during dinner first.”

“Not a chance.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Those ducks are bloody enormous.” Louis looked out at the lake, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. When a gust of wind made the rowboat give a slight lurch, he hurried to clutch the sides of the boat in a white-knuckled grip.

Harry giggled, his posture relaxed as he fiddled with the box camera on his lap. “They’re used to the boats; they’re not going to attack us, Louis. And I’m pretty sure those are swans.”

Louis glared at Harry, releasing one side of the boat so he could brush a few strands of hair off his forehead. He glanced at his boater hat, on the floor at the other end of the boat, but made no move to get it. “I meant you must have a problem with overfeeding here. I’m not scared of ducks. Or swans.”

“Like you’re not scared of pigeons? You kept jumping every time one swooped down over our heads yesterday.”

Louis tried to frown at him but succumbed to a fit of giggles, hiding his face against his shoulder because his hands were occupied holding on. “Shut up and take pictures of the ducks, Harold.”

Harry laughed, watching Louis with a permanent smile on his face. “They’re not very inspiring, to be honest.”

Holding his breath, Louis let go of the sides of the boat and gingerly sat back in his seat. “You like taking pictures of people.” He adjusted the portfolio on the seat next to him, thumb smoothing over the worn leather. “And the city.”

Harry shrugged. “For the most part. People _speak_ to me, more than animals.”

Louis shot him a teasing grin. “Well that’s a relief.”

Harry’s loud, honking laughter startled the swans. He covered his grinning face with his hands. “My best friend insists his dog speaks to him.”

Louis giggled. “He is _your_ best friend. Birds of a feather and all that...”

Harry just laughed and bent over to gather some wet leaves from the bottom of the rowboat to throw at Louis. The boat wobbled as his weight shifted.

Louis tensed, face scrunched up in trepidation. “I should not have got on a boat with you.”

Harry sat back down, steadying the boat. “No!” he whined, pouting. “This is fun!” He opened his eyes wide in a show of innocence.

Louis bit back a smile, relaxing again. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed,” he teased.

Harry stuck his tongue out at him. “That’s because you’re tense. We’re not going to capsize. Lean back, get comfortable. Take off your shoes.”

Louis made a face, unconvinced, and shook his head. But he did lean back, rolling his shoulders back and letting his head hang back. The dappled sunlight made long shadows from his eyelashes on his cheeks and lit up the strands of reddish gold in his hair.

Harry hoisted up his camera, pointing it at Louis, who had his eyes closed. Harry took a deep breath, throat working as he swallowed, but he put down the camera before taking the picture.

“Speaking of my best friend...” Harry had to stop and take a deep breath when Louis raised his eyelids and blinked at him slowly. “He’s performing tonight. At a music hall theatre of la Rive Gauche. Come with me?”

 

The doorman at the music hall theatre looked them up and down, his face a blank mask of professionalism. He held up a hand and signed for them to stand to a side while he greeted and let through a trio of men in black swallow-tail coats who tipped their hats at him and bustled inside.

Harry summoned a tentative, ingratiating smile. “Raoul, isn’t it? I think Liam introduced us once?”

Raoul studied Harry for a few seconds, then his face relaxed, the shadow of a smile flickering on his face. “Ah, yes. You offered to help with the stage lights and then almost set yourself on fire.”

Harry flushed even darker when he heard Louis sniggering behind him. “Right. That’s me.”

Raoul gave a huff of laughter and waved them in. “If anyone asks you sneaked in.”

Louis and Harry thanked him and stepped into the entrance hall, standing out amid the other men who were all in formal attire.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t have time to get changed,” Harry said as they proceeded to the auditorium.

Louis pressed close to Harry to let a cheerful group pass them. “It’s fine. We can make everyone jealous with our grass stained trousers and the smell of lake clinging to us.”

Harry smiled down at Louis, a little dazed at their proximity. “Louis, you’re—” He didn’t even notice Liam creeping up on him until he felt the hand on his shoulder.

“Harry! You’re here!”

After a cheerful handshake, Harry put his hands on Liam’s shoulders to take a good look at him. He was wearing his best shirt and waistcoat, and brand new mother-of-pearl gloves. The expression on his flushed face teetered between ecstatic and terrified. “You look fantastic,” Harry said.

Liam raised one gloved hand and wiggled his fingers. “My sisters surprised me with these. I don’t even want to think of how much they cost them, but— they’re very nice gloves, aren’t they?”

“They are. And you’re going to be brilliant.”

“Shit, I hope so.” Liam took a deep breath.

Harry squeezed his shoulders. “Are you almost on? Will you sit with us and have a drink?”

Liam shook his head. “I shouldn’t have any more to drink, but I’ll sit with you for a bit.”

Harry stepped to a side and angled Liam toward Louis, who had hung back and was standing behind him, waiting.

“Liam, this is Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” Harry waved a hand between them. “Louis, this is Liam Payne.”

Louis and Liam shook hands, though Louis had to shift Harry’s portfolio under his arm to extend his hand. Liam stared at the case with a small crease between his brows, then looked from Louis to Harry.

Harry clapped Liam on the back. “See Louis inside, please? I’ll be right back—I need the gents’.”

Liam kept staring at Louis after Harry dashed off. Louis raised his eyebrows. “Is something wrong?” he asked finally.

Liam jumped. “No, sorry. Let’s go find you a table.”

The music hall theatre known as _le Bouddha_ was of moderate size but lavish in its decoration. The oriental theme was prevalent: draperies in rich fabrics in vibrant colors and gold ornamentation from the entrance hall to the auditorium. Dark wood dining tables and chairs upholstered in purple and gold velvet were set out before the stage. From the high ceiling hung brass Moroccan lantern chandeliers.

Liam scanned the room and led Louis to a free table with a good view. A waiter materialised at their table almost instantly; Louis ordered two gin-based cocktails for him and Harry. Once the waiter had left to get their drinks, Liam turned to Louis, hands on his knees. “Are those Harry’s photographs?” he asked, pointing at the portfolio Louis had placed on his lap.

“Um, yes. He brought it with him this morning to show me.”

Liam’s eyes went round with surprise. “Did he? His drawings as well?”

Louis squirmed a little under Liam’s relentless, probing stare. “He said he’d show me those some other time.”

Liam let out his breath in an audible whoosh. “Harry never wants to show anyone his work. It took him months for him to show me anything.”

“Oh.” Louis ducked his head, biting his lip. “Well. I don’t know why. He’s very talented.”

“Yes, he is.”

The waiter didn’t even flinch when Liam grabbed a glass directly from the tray and took a generous sip. Louis left his drink on the table, tracing the leather pattern of the case with the tips of his fingers.

Before either of them could continue their conversation a young woman with dark hair, wearing a tiered, flowing white dress approached Liam. Tapping him on the shoulder, she bent down to whisper in his ear. Liam smiled at her. “Thanks, Soph. I’ll be right there.” He set the glass down after another mouthful and turned to Louis. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you after?”

Louis nodded. “Certainly. Good luck!”

“Thanks! I hope you enjoy the show.”

A minute later Harry joined Louis at the table. “All right?” he asked, sitting close enough that their knees brushed under the table and plopping his camera down on a free chair. “Was Liam talking your ear off about his dog? And what happened to my drink?”

Louis shook his head. “We were talking about what a talented artist you are, actually.”

Harry choked on his drink.

“Made me even more curious to see your drawings.”

Harry busied himself pulling down the cuffs of his shirt so as not to meet Louis’ eyes. “Now I’m even more afraid of disappointing you,” he mumbled.

Louis pinched Harry’s wrist to still his movement, then let his fingers brush down the back of Harry’s hand to the tip of his fingers before retreating. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen your photographs. And Niall said you were brilliant.”

Harry shrugged, eyes downcast. “I’m not horrible, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit!” Louis joked. Then he went serious. “But you’ve really never thought to sell?”

Harry shook his head, taking a sip of his gin. “Did Liam put you up to this?” he asked, voice strained. “He’s been trying to convince me for years.”

“Why won’t you?” Louis asked, genuinely curious.

Harry sighed, shoulder slumping. “I’m afraid,” he answered simply.

Louis shifted his chair the tiniest bit closer so their legs pressed up against each other from knee to foot. “But why? I know a tiny bit about art through one of my best friends who’s an artist too, and you—Honestly, Harry, you’d not want for buyers.”

Harry managed a small smile. “That’s not what I’m afraid of. Whether art sells doesn’t determine its worth.”

“Then what is it?”

Harry took a deep breath. “It’s just so... private? So personal. Every photograph I take— every drawing, even more so—they’re a part of me. And—” He traced the rim of the glass with one finger, following the motion with his eyes. “Even though I’ve got lots of friends, there are parts of me that I have to keep to myself, you know? Because I’m just... just so afraid of letting everyone see... my mind, my heart. I’m afraid of letting everyone see _me_.”

Louis studied Harry for a long moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “Can I just say something?”

Harry nodded without looking at him.

“All right. First of all: you don’t have to lay yourself bare to _everyone_ , Harold. In fact, given public decency laws, it’s probably best if you don’t.”

Harry glanced up at Louis with the corners of his mouth twitching.

“But...” Louis’ voice went low and earnest, though still gentle. “But fear shouldn’t keep you from sharing what’s obviously such an important part of yourself. Especially when it’s making you unhappy, bottling it all up like that. And if some people don’t like it—like you—then screw them.”

Harry gave a weak chuckle, blinking against the sting in his eyes.

Louis’ hand found Harry’s knee under the table and gave it a brief squeeze. “And for the record...” He touched the cover of the portfolio on his lap with reverent fingers. “I like it. Your mind. Your heart. I like you.”

Harry’s breath stuttered. “You do?”

Louis blushed and dipped his chin.

Harry sat up and leaned toward Louis, intent gaze fixed on his face. He put his hand on Louis’ thigh, fingers spread, and with enough pressure to wrinkle the fabric of his trousers. “Say it again. Please?”

“Harold, please,” Louis whined.

Harry groaned, pinching himself while Louis looked on, amazed. “I want to make certain I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis gasped, before reaching for his drink and gulping it down.

Harry kept his hand on Louis’ thigh all through Liam’s performance until he had to use both hands to applaud.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry tripped on a loose floorboard as he ran into the post office, hair windswept and shirt collar unbuttoned.

“They told me I had a call?” he panted, stumbling up to the nearest clerk. “Harry Styles?”

The clerk gave a curt nod. “We’ve been holding the call for almost eight minutes, _mister_.” He used the English term of address with deliberate rudeness.

Harry’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “Right. So where is it?”  The clerk pointed to a stand with a telephone left off the hook without a word. They exchanged a glare before Harry walked up to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” Harry said into the speaker.

“Harry! Shit, I never thought it’d be so hard to get a hold of you.” Louis’ voice came through the receiver, a little low but clear.

“I don’t have a phone in my building! I had to tip the butcher’s little girl to get here.”

Louis laughed, and Harry found himself smiling dopily as he cradled the handset to his ear.

“I was worried you’d have left already, or that you wouldn’t be home, and no way to let you know not to wait for me.”

“You’re not coming?” Harry asked, his face falling.

“I can’t,” Louis said, apologetic. “That friend I told you about—the one who’s an artist too? We weren’t sure if he’d be coming, but he arrived early this morning.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“I’m really sorry, Harry. He’s feeling a little under the weather from the trip and we’ve got this party tonight, so I’m supposed to nurse him back to health.”

Harry let himself slump against the stand. “It’s fine, Lou. Honestly. That’s sweet of you. Have fun at the party.”

Louis cleared his throat nervously. “About that. I was wondering if…” His exhalation caused a brief burst of static. “Maybe you wanted to come? They’re friends of Niall’s. I don’t even know who they are, but there will be alcohol and music. And you could even bring your camera if you wanted? You’ll have lots of people to photograph.”

Harry shot up straight. “You want me to come?”

“Please,” Louis said with a breath of laughter. “And you can meet Zayn!”

“Where is it?”

“Um. I don’t know, actually. I don’t have the address. Why don’t you stop by my hotel first? We can have a drink and then go to the party all together?”

Harry’s grin only widened when he caught the clerk watching him with a disgruntled look on his face. “Right. Let’s do that.”

“Perfect.”

He could hear the smile and a hint of relief in Louis’ voice. “Perfect,” Harry echoed.

 

“How can you be so calm?” Liam hissed through his teeth.

Harry raised a hand to run his fingers through his hair but stopped himself in time. He had tried to tame his hair with pomade and was wearing it slicked back, but the ends still curled at his nape. “I’m not. I’m just not thinking about it. Otherwise I’ll start sweating and ruin the suit.”

“No sweating,” Liam agreed fervently. “I’m almost afraid of breathing. This suit costs more than I made in the last month, Harry.”

Harry shifted his sight from looking out the window at the street blurring past to looking at his reflection in the glass. He smoothed a finger over the arch of each of his eyebrows. “Which is why you’re not paying for it,” he said vaguely.

Liam leaned forward in his seat to get a glimpse of the hotel entrance looming up ahead. “Neither of us are, though. That’s kind of the problem.”

“Liam—”

Liam was overcome by a sudden fit of nervous laughter. “I just can’t believe you bought these on someone else’s credit.”

Harry took out his wallet to fetch the cab fare. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

“Who you don’t talk to!”

Harry gave a small shrug, but the tightness around his mouth belied his insouciance. “What does it matter? We’ll return them before he ever knows about it.”

Liam let his breath out in a puff. “I need a drink. I really need a drink.” He made a face. “But what if I spill something on the suit?” he whined.

Harry squared his shoulders and tightened his grip on his box camera as they exited the cab. “It’s on my head if anything goes wrong.”

Liam scoffed. “Your sister wouldn’t let you pay for it if you could. And why are you walking like that?”

Harry grimaced. “I haven’t worn these shoes in ages; I’m not used to them anymore and they're pinching my toes.” He shot Liam a look. “And I’d rather Gemma didn’t find out either. It would only cause more problems between her and Alphonse.”

Liam climbed the stairs ahead of him. “You could have said ‘no’ to this party, you know? Rather than going to all this trouble.”

Harry shook his head. “Not a chance. I’m not wasting any time that I can be with him.”

Liam breathed out in a long whistle. “Fuck you’ve got it bad.”

Harry was spared answering by the doorman opening the door for the two of them. They walked up to the reception desk and Liam hovered at his elbow while Harry asked for Louis.

“I’ll let him know he has visitors. Please wait here.”

The hotel lobby was spacious and luminous: with a high ceiling and tall, arched-top windows all along two walls, as well as a sparkling chandelier and wall lamps. At the far end of the hall was a grand staircase that led up to the higher levels, although there were also three cage elevators with wrought iron gates to the side. An ample seating area with individual sets of dark wood center table and chairs took up the rest of the space.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before one of the lift gates opened to reveal Louis, without his tailcoat and wearing soft felt slippers.

Liam stared at him, bemused, while Harry’s face broke into a grin which only grew when Louis caught sight of him and his face went slack with awe. Louis padded up to Harry until he stood in front of him almost toe-to-toe.

Harry bit the side of his finger through a wide grin. “Hi.”

Louis looked Harry up and down with his mouth agape. He reached out to smooth the lapels of Harry’s swallow-tail coat as though he couldn’t help himself. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he pulled back his hand. “You’re not wearing cuff links,” he said.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Liam chimed in.

Louis and Harry both cocked their heads to stare at Liam: Louis raising his eyebrows and Harry shooting him a furious, incredulous glare.

“I forgot,” Harry admitted, turning back to Louis. “We were running late and I forgot to get them.”

Louis’ smile was soft. “You brought your camera but you forgot your cuff links.”

“I did.” Harry gave a bit of a shrug with a cheeky grin.

Louis bit his lip. “I’ve got... I’ve got some I can lend you. Come upstairs?”

Harry nodded, stepping forward as Louis took a step back, making both of them giggle as they ended up in the same position.

“I’ll just wait here, shall I?” Liam said in the background. “And have a drink—I need it,” he added under his breath.  

Harry passed the camera, his top hat, and his white silk gloves to Liam with a fleeting thumbs up before following Louis to the lift. They were silent, sneaking glances at each other, as the lift operator took them up to the second floor.

Louis had left the door of his room unlocked. He hurried inside, leaving Harry to follow.

“That’s a very nice suit. You look—Um. Let me just—I’ve got the perfect set of cuff links...” Louis babbled while he busied himself with a small jewelry box on top of the chest of drawers, keeping his back to Harry.

The room was double the size of Harry’s and boasted a matching set of solid white wood furniture. White wall panelling and intricate crown molding complemented a simple flower print wallpaper in cream and gold. Harry couldn’t help but glance at the double bed which dominated the room. It was unmade, the rose coloured duvet bunched up at the feet of the bed, revealing the wrinkled sheets. One of the pillows had fallen onto the rug next to the bed.

Louis fell silent and approached Harry, looking down at what he held in his hand.

“Will you?” Harry asked him, raising a hand palm up.

Louis didn’t say anything while he fixed the cuff links in place, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his teeth. When he was done he looked up at Harry, but didn’t let go of Harry’s wrist. “Kind of matches your eyes,” he whispered, tracing the contour of the jade cuff link.

Harry felt a smile tugging at his lips. “You said that about a lily pad at the lake too.”

Louis flashed a quick grin. “I’m a writer. Similes come naturally.”

Harry leaned in closer, hooking his fingers around Louis’ to still the nervous movement of his hand. “Spend a lot of time writing poetry about my eyes?” he teased.

Louis went pink, but lifted his chin up. “Right now I can’t stop thinking about your lips, actually.”

Harry gulped, glancing down at Louis’ lips then back at his eyes which were wide, expectant but revealing a hint of wariness.

“I need to—” Harry murmured, then bent down to kiss Louis, raising a hand to cup his jaw and angle his head. Louis made a small noise of contentment and the grip on Harry’s hand tightened as Louis used it for support to lift himself up on his tiptoes, pushing back against Harry to deepen the kiss.

“Going to write a sonnet about this?” Harry murmured against his lips while threading his fingers through Louis’ hair. He felt Louis’ eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

“I might write a review, so you might want to up your game, Harold,” Louis replied, nipping at Harry’s bottom lip and letting go of Harry’s wrist to hold onto his shoulders instead.

Harry let out a short giggle before pressing their lips together again. He cupped the base of Louis’ head, burying his fingers in his hair, while they shared a series of quick, soft kisses.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, which made them break apart. Louis took a stumbling step back into the middle of the room, but Harry was left momentarily out of sight, blocked from the visitor’s view by the open door.

“Louis! Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

Louis let out a breathless laugh. “I keep getting distracted.”

“You said that an hour ago. What’s the hold up now? You know how Niall is about being late.”

A slim young man slouched into the room, straightening and tensing up when he caught sight of Harry.

“Um. Good evening.” Harry waved a hand in greeting.

The man’s dark, liquid eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the jade cuff link glinting on Harry’s sleeve.

“This is Harry Styles.” Louis introduced him, laughter in his voice. He winked at Harry. “And this is Zayn Malik.”

Harry stepped forward and extended his hand. Zayn’s hand shake was casual but he scanned Harry from head to toe and he didn’t return Harry’s tentative smile.

Zayn wrapped an arm around Louis’ waist, splaying his hand on Louis’ front, and peered at Harry from over Louis’ shoulder. “C’mon, pet. You were supposed to be ready by now. I thought you’d finished fixing your hair?” he said to Louis in an audible whisper. 

Louis shot Harry a half impish, half bashful glance, but let Zayn pull him away from Harry. “You’re usually the one who takes longest to get ready, so you can’t talk.” 

Zayn kissed the side of Louis’ head before letting him go. “I’m not gonna argue with that but we do need to get going, so—” He turned to address Harry: his tone amiable but his expression cool. “Let’s remove the distraction, hm? Harry, grab a drink with me downstairs?” 

“Um.” Harry glanced at Louis, trying to catch his eye. But Louis had caught sight of his mussed hair in the mirror and was trying to fix it in what looked almost like a compulsive gesture. “Sure.” 

When Harry didn’t move, Zayn raised his eyebrows at him and motioned at the door with his chin. “After you, Styles.” 

Harry straightened his back and walked out of the room. He heard Zayn whispering something that he couldn’t make out to Louis before he followed Harry out. They walked down the corridor side by side, not speaking.

 “Louis mentioned you’re an artist?” Harry said as they got into the lift, Zayn still staring at him in silence.

Zayn shrugged with one shoulder. “I do the comic strip for the newspaper we both work at and illustrate children’s books.”

“Oh! That sounds wonderful.”

Zayn just gave him another careful once-over. “That’s a very fine suit.”

“Er. Thanks.”

“It looks new.” Zayn looked at Harry straight on. “Unlike your shoes.”

Harry glanced down at his feet: black button up ankle boots. The leather was a bit worn—not to the point of embarrassment, yet his used shoes clashed with his brand new suit.

“Uh.” Harry swallowed with difficulty. “I like these shoes.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “I can see that.”

Harry located Liam and led Zayn over to him. Liam was sitting with one ankle crossed over his knee, drumming his fingers on his thigh in some beat playing in his head.

Liam didn’t notice Harry until he was right in front of him. His welcoming smile morphed into a frown when he saw the agitated expression on Harry’s face. “I expected you to come down looking happier. What—” He cut off when he became aware of Zayn standing behind him. “Uh.”

Harry cleared his throat.  “This is Zayn Malik, Louis’ friend. Louis will be down in a minute.”

Liam stood up to shake hands with Zayn. To Harry’s surprise, Zayn actually returned Liam’s smile, his face softening to the point of almost shyness as Liam introduced himself.

“I heard you sing at a music hall?” Zayn asked Liam, angling himself to block Harry from the conversation.

Liam and Zayn sat down and quickly became wrapped up in a conversation about music while Harry walked over to the window and stood looking out at the busy street with people and cars passing through on their way to Saturday night parties and outings.

Louis sidled up to him some time after, smelling of expensive cologne. “Why the long face, Mr. Styles?” he asked playfully.

Harry’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of him in his black tailored tailcoat which accentuated his slender waist and figure. He had his slicked hair parted to one side and his lips looked very pink.

“Don’t—” Harry blurted out. “Don’t call me that, please.”

Louis’ brow furrowed a little in confusion and he stepped back, putting distance between them. “I’m sorry.”

Harry’s face screwed up in distress. “I mean—it’s Harry and Louis between us, isn’t it?” he urged. “It’s just us, right?”

Although Louis still looked a little taken aback, he moved close to Harry again. His voice was soft and quiet when he answered. “It is. Yes, of course it is.”

Harry sighed and smiled, lighting up as he looked at Louis up and down again, admiring. “Lou, you look—”

“Like a million bucks,” Zayn interrupted, coming up to stand between them. “Now let’s go. Niall’s probably wondering where we are.”

“Niall probably won’t even remember he invited us until we’re there,” Louis countered with a chuckle.

“Harry, I can’t carry everything!” Liam called out from where he’d been sitting. Harry cast a last look at Zayn leading Louis toward the door before hurrying to collect his things from Liam.

 

“So you’re a traditionalist.” Zayn stirred the drink in his hand with an indolent flick of his wrist. He was lounging in a Victorian settee with Louis and Liam sitting at either side of him while Harry perched on a matching armchair.

“I’m not. I think some of the new art coming out at the moment is brilliant. But I don’t think there’s any need to disrespect the traditional,” Harry retorted.

Zayn scoffed. “It’s boring. It’s overdone. It means nothing in the now. It’s the turn of the century and things are changing.”

Harry bent forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together to control his impulse to wave them around as he talked. “You’re thinking of meaning as something that has to be big—like it’s all about making a statement in history. But art is more than a social trend and as long as it makes someone feel something... it will have meaning.”

Harry tightened the grip of his interlaced fingers when he caught Louis watching him with a thoughtful look on his face.

Zayn took a sip of his drink. “I’m not saying it doesn’t. But the old has to make way for the new. New art for a new and evolving world. People are different and art has to reflect that.”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but he froze when Zayn offered the maraschino cherry of his drink to Louis, holding the garnish stick while Louis closed his lips around it and sucked the fruit into his mouth. A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitched when Zayn wiped off a bit of juice that trickled down Louis’ chin with his thumb.

Harry lurched to his feet, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt.

“Where are you going?” Louis gasped, looking up at Harry in surprise.

“Around. I need to stretch my legs,” Harry said shortly, grabbing his camera from the seat.  

Liam made to get up and follow him but Harry shook his head and stalked off across the room on his own. It was crowded and the lighting dim, almost claustrophobic with the stifling smell of tobacco smoke and perfume. He went over to the window to get a breath of fresh, night air.

The transition from fresh air to the oppressive atmosphere of the room made his eyes sting when he stuck his head back inside. Harry leaned against the wall with a sigh and stared at Louis, who was sitting quite still, eyes downcast.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

The person who had spoken was a young woman around Harry’s age, with striking eyes and thick eyebrows, her lips painted a brazen bold red.

Harry felt his face heat up at her cackling.

“Cigarette?” she offered with a crooked grin.

Harry shrugged, reaching for the cigarette between her fingers. “Thanks.”

She stared at him as though trying to work something out, cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.

Harry couldn’t help but glance at Louis again. Zayn was sitting much too close, whispering in his ear. Liam had moved to Harry’s vacated chair.

Cara followed his gaze, leaning against Harry with familiarity. “Which one is it you’ve your got your eye on?” she asked.

Zayn held a glass up to Louis, who took a sip and passed it back, unsmiling. Harry drew in air with a sharp hiss when he saw Zayn rest a hand on Louis’ thigh.

“Ah. The little one?” The woman guessed, mouth quirked as she squeezed Harry’s arm. “He’s sweet.”

Harry tilted his head to one side and studied her smirking face. “Have we met?” he asked brusquely, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Her laughter was loud and unapologetic. “Mademoiselle Delavigne—Cara for my friends. _Enchanté_.”

“I’m Harry Styles.”

“You’re jealous,” she said with another snorting laugh.

Harry took another drag of the cigarette. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Delavigne. I can tell we’re going to be great friends,” he said, deadpan.

Cara grinned, elbowing him in the side. “We are,” she agreed. “And in view of our budding friendship I’m just going to go ahead and ask what the hell you’re doing here instead of over there with your darling?”

Harry fingered the edges of the box camera in his hands. “Taking pictures,” he replied with a rueful half smile.

Cara cooed at him, rubbing his upper arm. “Come, let me introduce you to _my_ darling, Annie. Have another drink and relax—you might just be calling me Cara by the end of the night.”

Harry cast another look at Louis before nodding. “I could use a drink.”  


Liam found Harry with Cara and her girlfriend holed up in the dining room, sitting down at one end of the long table closest to the window to catch the bright moonlight from outside so they could play cards. There were several used glasses on the table and two bottles of wine, one of them empty and the other about a third full.

Harry squinted up at him, struggling to raise his drooping eyelids. “Hey, Liam. I thought I’d lost you, mate.” His bow tie was undone and he’d taken off his tailcoat and shoes.

Liam scowled at him. “Harry, what the fuck. I’ve been looking for you all over.”

Harry’s eyelids twitched with the effort to widen his eyes for effect. “I’ve been here! Losing spec-spectacularly—” he slurred.

“Losing so badly,” Cara interjected, burying her face in the crook of Annie’s neck while she laughed. Her hand was high on Annie’s thigh, bunching up the silk chiffon skirt of the dress beneath her hand.

Liam goggled at the sight, then gave his head a shake and turned back to frown at Harry.  “Louis has gone back to the hotel. They all have.”

Harry’s forehead creased. “What?” His hold on the playing cards went slack so that they fluttered to his lap. “Louis’s gone?” he repeated, struck dumb.

Liam stared at him, incredulous. “Yes. He left. Him and his friends.”

“Oh.” Harry gathered up the cards, his movements sluggish. “We didn’t get to say goodnight.”

“I think Louis was kind of upset,” Liam went on, lowering his voice, even though Cara and Annie could obviously still hear him.

Harry’s head shot up. “What?” he gasped in horror. “Louis was upset?”

Liam picked up Harry’s tailcoat from the chair. “Yes. After you stormed off he got all quiet, and later when they were leaving he looked miserable. Zayn was right pissed at you and made no secret of it, just so you know.”

Harry slumped in his chair, letting his forehead hit the table. “Fuck.”

Liam clapped a hand on his back and gave him a rough rub. “Let’s get you home, H.”

Harry groaned as he stood up. “Mhm. I‘m sorry, Liam. Thanks for the good time, Cara, Annie.”

Cara pinched Harry’s hip. “Cheer up, dear. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a bit of grovelling.”

Annie pressed a calling card into Harry’s hand, smiling. “Let us know how it goes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They knew how to [party](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DqcFk0H-oGY/UVIj5rZpePI/AAAAAAAAGKE/SyeSbh3raN4/s1600/5495042081_ed89c39cf8_z.jpg). 
> 
> The men would be wearing something like [this](https://blueridgevintage.files.wordpress.com/2014/02/1906_11_saj_dover_book_edit.jpg). Have another [picture](http://www.blacktieguide.com/History/1900-1919/1900_circa_thegentlemen'spage_crop.jpg).
> 
> [Cara's](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/a6/5d/eb/a65deb9852e0d18e178733b2fd9dae8e.jpg) [dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/87/01/ca/8701cacd8f4c34e4b6829738eeed2087.jpg).
> 
> [Annie's](http://66.media.tumblr.com/0912d9235429e4c8073466c594014cec/tumblr_nms2h5DpGI1qcddvlo1_500.jpg) [dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/f1/05/8d/f1058d28a80057a122c8f6a4848c113a.jpg).


	6. Chapter 6

Harry paced the length of the hotel lobby, alternating between tugging at the short curls at the base of his head and massaging the knot of tension in the nape of his neck. He stopped in the middle of the hall, hands behind his back, to glance up at the clock above the reception desk, then trained his eyes on the lifts when he noticed one of them coming down.

“Harry.”

Harry’s head whipped around at the sound of Louis’ voice. He couldn’t get a word out as he went over to Louis, looking up at him where he stood on the stairs a few steps above him. Louis was dressed to go out to the country in a beige tweed suit. He regarded Harry unsmiling.

“Hi,” Harry said finally in a small voice. “Thanks for coming down.”

Louis kept one hand on the banister while fiddling with a button on his suit jacket with the other. “Hm.”

Harry thrust the bouquet of half a dozen roses at Louis. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out. “I’m sorry about last night.”

Louis stared at the flowers in shock, then cast a sweeping glance around them, neck stiff and shoulders tense. After a moment’s hesitation he snatched the flowers from Harry and, descending the last two steps quickly, hurried to a settee couch at the farthest end of the room, partially hidden behind a thick marble column and a potted areca palm.

“Sit.”

Harry sat down immediately, shoulders hunched and hands sandwiched between his thighs.

Louis sat down next to him, though far enough that they didn’t touch, and considered Harry carefully; he kept the flowers on his lap. “What was last night about? You disappeared. Why?” he demanded.

Harry took a deep, shaking breath. “I was jealous,” he admitted.

Louis blinked at him. “Huh?”

Harry angled his body toward Louis and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and letting his hands speak. “I was jealous,” he repeated. “Really, stupidly jealous. I know it’s not an excuse! And it’s not like we’re—It’s not like you’re—” He hung his head. “I reacted badly and I’m really sorry. But... it was driving me crazy, seeing him all over you.”

Louis gaped at him for a moment before his face twisted in confusion. “Are you talking about Zayn?”

Harry gave a short nod.

Louis let out a bark of laughter. “ _Really?_ ”

“He likes you,” Harry insisted.

“We’re like brothers, Harry, honestly.” Louis shifted minutely forward so that their knees almost touched.

“But he was all—”

Louis bit his lip, fighting back a smile. “Zayn’s shy. Like, the opposite of Niall when it comes to meeting new people. He prefers to keep to the people he knows. ”

“He didn’t seem to have a problem with Liam. And he kept getting between us; wouldn’t let me near you.” Harry pouted.

Louis’ shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “All right, maybe he was a little overprotective.” He twisted a loose end of the ribbon used to tie the bouquet together around one of his fingers in a nervous gesture. “And maybe I kind of felt like I needed that... a little bit?”

Harry looked crushed. “Protection from me?”

Louis tugged at the ribbon some more, wrapping it around his finger tight enough to cut off the circulation. “Not like that. It’s just that it’s a little... overwhelming. How much I like you.”

Harry bit the side of his finger, staring at Louis with wondering eyes. “Lou.”

Louis cleared his throat. “But you’re still an idiot. We kissed. I kissed _you_. I thought I’d made it pretty obvious that I like _you—_ not _Zayn_ , heaven forbid.”

Harry ducked his head. “I’m sorry I was such an idiot.”

Louis inched closer until their knees touched and Harry lifted his head, daring to smile.

“You’re also a madman. I can’t believe you brought me roses!” Louis said in a hushed voice, raising the bouquet to his chest and hiding his face among the flowers.

Harry smiled wide enough to make his dimples appear. “I’m mad about you.”

Louis rolled his eyes, keeping his lips pressed tightly together to stop himself from grinning. “That’s a terrible line.”

“It’s not a line.” Harry ventured to let his fingers slide from his leg to cup Louis’ knee. Harry licked his lips, staring at Louis’ mouth. “Could I—?” he asked, leaning in.

Louis froze up. “You are _actually_ insane,” he whispered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Harry pulled back, giving Louis’ knee a little squeeze once Louis was no longer rigid. “Is that wrong?” he asked, sheepish.

“No,” Louis replied at once, looking at Harry in the eye. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” Maintaining eye contact with Harry, Louis brushed his lips over one rose, the red petals rippling for an instant under the slight drag and pressure of his lips.

Harry’s sharp intake of breath was audible.

Louis broke off the stem close to the flower and tucked the rose into the breast pocket of Harry’s suit jacket. “I need to get back. We’re taking Zayn for a drive out to Versailles.”

“It’s nice out there. Have fun,” Harry managed to say. “Say hello to Niall from me... and Zayn.”

Louis bit back a laugh. “See you tomorrow?” he asked, letting his fingers linger over Harry’s chest with the excuse of adjusting the flower.

Harry brushed their fingers together for a brief moment. “Yes, please.”  


After he left the hotel, he walked for a while in a daze down the street before stopping and leaning his back against a wall to bring the rose to his lips, eyes closed and heart skipping in his chest.

A middle aged woman smiled at him indulgently when he opened his eyes and found her watching him. Harry floated all the way back to his flat.


	7. Chapter 7

“I thought I’d be getting away from the rain when I left London, but I guess there’s no escaping it.” Louis said when they reached the front of the cinema theatre, out of the rain under the clamshell doorway canopy.

Harry started to wipe his wet face with a handkerchief but got sidetracked at the sight of Louis with rain water clinging to his eyelashes; a drop balanced for a split second and was dislodged with a blink.

Harry murmured something unintelligible in response to Louis’ comment, busy following the slide of the drop of rain down Louis’ cheek to the constellation of freckles by the corner of his mouth.

“Harry?” Louis gave Harry’s flat cap a small tug. “Have I got something on my face?”

Harry gave Louis’ cheek a pat with his handkerchief. “No. No, sorry. You’ve just got a really nice face.”

Louis breathed out a surprised, bashful laugh. “So do you.”

Harry couldn’t bite back a grin. “You think so?”

Louis bit his bottom lip then pressed the pad of his thumb to Harry’s most pronounced dimple, just for an instant, as though he were wiping something off his cheek. “I wouldn’t be writing poetry about it if I didn’t, would I?” he said, teasing.

“I guess not,” Harry said giddily.

“Let’s go. We don’t want to be late or they won’t let us in.”

 

“Not the best seats but at least we made it in time. Are you sure you can see alright?” Harry asked as he took a seat. They were at the end of the row and almost at the back of the auditorium.

“ _Yes_ , Harold. Just what are you implying?” Louis huffed. He straightened up to his full height in the chair as though to intimidate and pretended to glower at Harry.

Harry burst into giggles. “Nothing! Only it might be a good thing half the audience is under fourteen,” he teased, squawking with laughter when Louis kicked his ankle in retaliation with an indignant ‘oi’.

Their hilarity didn’t cause a ripple in the full auditorium which was pandemonium with all the excited children waiting for the projection to start.

“I’m sorry about all the children, by the way. There aren’t usually this many in the evening screening.”

Louis gave his knee a brief pat. “I don’t mind, Harry—I love children. And their reactions make the films even more fun to watch.”

Harry clutched his knee with his own hand, chasing after the phantom warmth of Louis’ touch. Endeared, he smiled at Louis, unabashed, until Louis dipped his chin and hid his own smile behind his hand, fingers folded against his palm.

A grin playing about his mouth, Harry raised himself out of his chair to peer at the sea of heads that filled the auditorium. “There are more people without children than you’d expect at the Sunday matinee, though.”

Louis let out a small sigh of relief at not having Harry’s focused attention anymore before answering. “It’s probably because of the rain. It’s the perfect place to wait it out, isn’t it? I’m not surprised.”

“Ain’t that right!” The young woman sitting next to Harry chimed in in a distinctive American accent. “Did the rain ruin your day too?”

Harry turned to look at her in surprise, catching sight out of the corner of his eye of Louis leaning forward to get a look at her as well. She looked about their age with curled blond hair and very white teeth which were too big for her mouth.

“We did have other plans but I wouldn’t say our day is ruined,” Harry replied. “Though it might be too early to tell—it’s not quite noon yet, after all,” he added with a slight smirk. Louis snickered.

The girl tittered. “That’s a delightful attitude.” She gave her friend a swat on the upper arm with her gloves. “That’s the spirit. You see, Sissy. We can’t let a bit of rain ruin our holiday, can we?”

Harry had to laugh at her over the top enthusiasm. “Are the ladies from the States, then?” he asked politely.

“We sure are. Tennesee and Texas. And our fine gentleman protector is an Englishman like yourself.”

An older man with a moustache and beard stood up, forcing Harry to do the same.

“Lord Winston Jr. and I have the honour of introducing you to Miss Swift and Miss Gomez.”

Harry bowed to the young women. “Mr. Styles and Mr. Tomlinson, at your service.”

Taylor barely spared Louis a glance, her attention focused on Harry. “Who’d have thought we’d be so lucky to meet a nice young gentleman from England in Paris. When I heard y’all speaking in the Lord’s blessed English, I was so happy I could’ve kissed you—I can’t understand a word of this French babble myself.”

Harry managed a thin smile. “Lucky for you films have no spoken dialogue. Although the title cards are in French for the most part, I believe.” He turned to address Louis, “Lucky for you too. I still haven’t got the opportunity to test how good your French is, Lou.”

As Louis started to smile and answer, Taylor interrupted and diverted Harry’s attention to herself when she gripped his wrist on the armrest. “Good thing I’ve got you next to me then, honey,” she simpered. “I heard you speaking French to the usher; such an educated gentleman.”

Harry hummed, noncommittal, and extricated his arm from her grip by pretending to need to adjust his tie.

“Shush. It’s going to start!” Selena hissed as the red velvet curtains were rolled back.

“Yes, settle down, my dear,” Ben murmured.

“All the brats are screaming—what difference does it make?” Taylor muttered in a huff.

Harry tried to lean toward Louis in his seat while the films were shown, but Taylor kept grabbing his arm and making comments in an audible whisper.

Half an hour into the screening, the image suddenly popped and crackled and went black. There were gasps and disappointed groans from the audience. After a few minutes of the operator tinkering with the projector, an intermission was called.

“Should we get something from the concession stands?” Harry asked Louis.

Louis nodded. “And some air— it’s really stuffy in here.”

Harry noticed how Louis’ eyes slid toward Taylor as he got to his feet. Harry stiffened when Taylor took hold of his elbow.

“Mr. Styles, won’t you lend your arm to a couple of ladies, you rascal?” she said, linking their arms together and pulling Selena up with her.

“Er—” Harry caught the tightening of Louis’ jaw even as he ducked his head and hurried on ahead.

“I entrust them to your care, Mr Styles,” Ben said, waving a hand to invite him to start walking.

Harry held back a grimace and escorted the two young women out of the auditorium and into the vestibule while Taylor chattered in his ear. He had to do the circuit of the concession stands with Taylor hanging off his arm, although Selena excused herself and joined Ben. Harry kept an eye out for Louis but he seemed to have disappeared.

It wasn’t until Taylor excused herself to use the powder room that Harry was free to search for Louis. He found him waiting by the door to the auditorium, munching on some candied fruit.

Louis looked up at Harry, unsmiling.

Harry stole a crystallized pear. “Hey. I’m sorry, Lou—Miss Swift is kind of hard to resist.”

Louis’ expression shuttered further. “I bet. She has a very nice face too. And other attractive qualities, I suppose.”

Harry gaped at him, face twisting in distaste. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He leaned in close to Louis to whisper in his ear. “You think I’ve got eyes for anyone but you?”

Louis bit his lip and met his gaze fleetingly when Harry pulled back. “She’s flirting with you.”

Harry guffawed. “Yes, I noticed.” He looked around, but Taylor had joined her friend and was giggling with her by one of the concession stands. “I was only trying to be nice, but she really can’t take a hint.”

Louis sighed with exaggerated exasperation. “You’re too nice,” he said, shaking his head. However, there was the shadow of a smile on his face as he fixed one of the lapels of Harry’s suit jacket.

Harry shot him a winning smile and then made his grin sillier and more ridiculous until he coaxed a proper smile and a chuckle from Louis.

“We can leave now, if you want. We don’t have to stay,” Harry told him hurriedly as an usher opened the door and people started to go back inside the auditorium. “I can be rude. We don’t even have to say goodbye.”

Louis’ shoulders raised once in a silent laugh. “That’s sweet, Harold. But I want to finish watching the films.” He turned around and walked inside, leaving Harry alone.

The next moment he had Taylor latched onto his arm. “French chocolate is just sinful, ain’t it?” she twittered, her breath smelling of milk chocolate.

Harry’s mouth curled in a tight smile. “I’m rather partial to crystallized fruit, myself.”

Although Taylor once again grabbed hold of his arm the moment he sat down, Harry spread his legs so that his knee would touch Louis’. And in the darkest scenes he sneaked his free hand between their seats to press his knuckles against Louis’ thigh. Once, Louis shifted in his seat so that their hands briefly touched.

 

“Well, what should we do now?” Taylor drawled, peering out at the drizzle from beneath the canopy at the entrance of the cinema. She still hadn’t let go of Harry’s arm.

“How about the museum?” Harry suggested with a sharp smile.

Taylor faltered for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. That sounds fun. Doesn’t it Mr Winston?”

Ben was fixing his top hat and just gave a curt nod.

Selena pouted. “I wanted to go shopping.”

“Silly goose, Sissy. Mr. Styles suggested the museum,” Taylor hissed, lips stretched into a forced smile.

“Let me hail a cab,” Harry said, taking the opportunity to shake her off. He quickly managed to flag down a cab.

“Ladies first.” He opened the back door for them. Selena stepped inside, followed by Taylor. Ben went around and entered the car from the other side.

“It might be a tight fit with the five of us,” Ben remarked as he got into the car.

“I think we’ll be fine,” Harry said placidly.

He stuck his head in and gave the cabbie instructions while handing him some money.

“Lovely to meet you. Enjoy the museum!” Harry called out before slamming the door shut, leaving Taylor gawking at him as the cab sped off.

Harry turned around and saw Louis staring at him open-mouthed.

Harry shrugged. “I told you I could be rude.”

Louis hunched over, curling in on himself as he dissolved into loud giggles. “That’s your version of rude—you even paid for the cab, you goof.” He smiled at Harry, bubbling with laughter, eyes crinkled.

Harry beamed. “The point is we’re alone at last,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

It made Louis burst out laughing again. “Stop that. Let me catch my breath, Harry,” Louis gasped between giggles.

Harry swelled with pride, delight at Louis’ mirth visible in his face.

“So what should we do now?” Louis asked once he’d calmed down. “Whatever it is, we want to stay far from that side of the city.”

Harry cackled. “Definitely.” He pursed his lips in thought, hands in his pockets. “The Champs Elysses are out with this rain. Maybe Saint Chapelle...”

Louis sidled up to Harry and looked at him from under his eyelashes. “I was thinking... we could go to your place? Show me your drawings?”

Harry stared at him in surprise. “I—You want—We... we _could_ go to my place, yes, of course. It’s not far, actually. But it’s not much. Little more than a drawing table and a bed.”

Louis picked a strand of Harry’s hair from the front of his suit jacket, resting his hand for a split second on Harry’s chest. “I think you’ve got the essentials covered then, hm?” he said with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows.

Harry gulped, face flushing. “You think so?”

Louis worried at his bottom lip. “Yes?”

Harry licked his own lips as he lost himself for a moment staring at Louis’ mouth. He nodded and raised a hand to Louis’ lower back in an irrepressible movement.

“It’s close. We won’t even have time to get wet,” he said, exerting a slight pressure to angle Louis in the right direction.

Louis didn’t shy away from his touch. “Lead the way.”

Harry hesitated. “You know... you know you don’t have to prove anything to me, right? Not because I was jealous last night, or because that girl was flirting with me today.”

Louis’ smile was soft. “I know. I just want you,” he said simply.

 

The moment they crossed the threshold of the house, Harry reached out to hold Louis’ hand while they climbed up the stairs.

“I’m up in the attic,” Harry said, almost apologetically.

“Princess in the tower,” Louis joked, voice strained, his grip on Harry’s hand tightening when he stumbled on the steps.

Harry pushed on ahead to reach the top landing first. He stood fumbling with the brass door knob which was scratched and dull with age, while Louis dragged himself up the final steps, wooden handrail creaking when he put his weight on it.

“It’s not much,” Harry warned when Louis came up behind him.

Louis rolled his eyes, hands on his hips as he caught his breath. “I’m not expecting Turner’s studio, Harry. Open the door.”

Harry took a deep breath and opened the door to let Louis inside. Harry shrugged off his suit jacket while watching Louis as he took in the room, face unreadable.

Louis ran his fingertips down the outer border of the drawing table, studying the papers scattered on the table’s surface: some simple, quick studies of people at the park. He almost tripped over some books on the floor as he walked a small circle in the center of the room, casting a quick glance at the bed in its white sheets.

Harry’s heart hammered in his throat when Louis approached him.

“When we’re done I want to see all of your drawings.” Louis reached out to touch Harry’s face, the pad of his thumb catching on the corner of his mouth.

“Done with what?” Harry breathed while Louis thumbed at his bottom lip.

Louis flushed even as he leaned into Harry, their bodies touching from chest to thighs, one hand gripping Harry’s shoulder and the other sliding down to cup the side of his neck. “Done organizing your impressive collection of books, of course. What do you think?”

Harry’s bark of laughter dissolved into a moan when Louis pulled his head down to bring their lips together. Louis looped his arms around Harry’s neck as they kissed, hard and eager. Harry wasted no time in slipping his hands under Louis’ suit jacket to grip his waist.

Louis trailed one of his hands down Harry’s front to reach between his legs. “This also feels impressive,” he said, squeezing him through his trousers, running two fingers up the hardening length of his cock.

“Fuck,” Harry choked out.

“That’s the idea,” Louis snickered against the corner of Harry’s mouth.

Harry groaned and spun them around, crowding Louis against the door and sucking at the angle of his jaw. Louis clutched at Harry’s upper arms with a gasp, squirming while Harry popped open the detachable collar for better access to his neck. He tugged at the necktie to unknot it, none too gentle, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“You taste like oranges and sugar,” Harry mumbled, attacking the uncovered skin until he was mouthing at his collarbones.

Louis tilted his head back against the door, pink lips parted as he panted. The sight made Harry fumble with the buttons of the waistcoat. “Got to get this off you.” He snapped the suspenders loose and pulled the suit jacket, shirt, and waistcoat off all together, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. When he reached for the button of his trousers, Louis grabbed his wrist.

Harry looked up at his face, licking his lips, unable to resist leaning in to kiss him again. “All right?” he asked, pulling back again.

Louis’ hands found Harry’s hips, tugging slowly at the shirt to pull it out of his trousers. “Want your clothes off too.”

Harry’s hands flew to the buttons of his waistcoat. “I can do that.” He was out of his clothes in a matter of seconds, including his drawers and socks, kicking his shoes to a corner of the room in the nude. “Done!”

Louis let out a giggle before looking him up and down, a little slack-jawed. “That _is_ impressive,” he said.

Harry honked with laughter, then stepped forward in front of Louis who reached out to touch him, trailing the tips of his fingers down his chest, exploratory and appreciative. “You’ve got four nipples,” Louis said dazedly, letting his hand drop.

Harry moved to kiss him, putting his hands all over Louis’ chest and stomach.

“I’ve got—” Louis stuttered when Harry started to pull his trousers down again. “Harry, I’ve got—”

Harry noticed he was trembling, legs shaking as though he were struggling to stay upright. “Bed, hm?” he suggested.

Louis gave a short nod and went over to the bed, sitting on the edge at the feet of the bed. Harry knelt between his legs and took off his shoes and socks. Louis tugged on his hair and leaned down to kiss him; he lifted his hips, fingers digging into the muscles in Harry’s back for support, allowing Harry to pull his trousers down his thighs.

Harry squeezed Louis’ knees and broke the kiss, sitting back on his haunches. It took a moment for it to register: Louis’ left lower leg was thinner than the right, the muscles weak and shrunken, and the arch of his foot was too pronounced because of the muscle imbalances. It wasn’t a drastic difference but it was obvious.

“Oh,” Harry breathed. He looked up at Louis, who was staring back at him, the expression on his face almost fearful and his chest rising and falling too fast. Harry sat up and stretched to cup Louis’ face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over his cheeks. He brushed their lips together, soft and gentle. “Does it hurt?”

Louis shook his head, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “It’s just a bother. And ugly.”

Harry got to his feet, one knee on the bed as he pushed Louis to lie back and held himself over him. “There’s not one thing about you that’s ugly,” he said earnestly.

Louis gasped into his mouth when Harry pressed the heel of his palm to Louis’ cock over his drawers.

“You take my breath away every time I look at you... and I can’t take my eyes off you. I can’t believe I get to touch you like this.” Harry murmured the words into the crook of Louis’ neck while he worked his cock, squeezing and stroking, thumbing at the head until wetness seeped through the fabric and Louis was bucking his hips into his hand, biting back moans, gripping his wrist with one hand without hindering its movement.

“Harry. You... you can’t—I’m—Fuck.”

Harry let his hand slip lower, pressing two fingers to Louis’ perineum. His own cock was fully hard and wet at the tip. “Can I?” he gulped, pulling back to look at Louis in the face. “Do you want to, Lou?”

Louis reached up to touch Harry’s face, eyes darting all over it, assessing. “Yes. Yes, I want to.” He raised himself up on his elbows to kiss him again while Harry slipped a hand inside his drawers to rub at his dry hole with two fingers. “Want you, Harry,” he said when they broke apart, breathless.

Harry’s chest clenched at the sight of him: eyes still closed and lips parted, pink and wet from Harry’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, lightheaded with arousal.

Louis blinked his eyes open and flashed Harry a lazy grin. “Yes, come on.”

Harry fetched a vial of oil from the armoire while giving his cock a few tugs for relief. When he turned around Louis had shucked his drawers and moved higher up on the bed, head on the pillow, one arm behind his head and the other on his belly though not touching his cock, which was lying curved over his hip. He stared at Harry openly.

“See anything you like?” Harry teased, climbing back onto the bed.

“Everything,” Louis replied, spreading his legs without prompting.

Harry drew in a sharp breath, neck muscles straining. Face flushed and sweat beading his hairline, he scooted closer to sit between Louis’ legs. He poured some oil onto his fingers and kissed the inside of his knee while he rubbed two fingers over his hole. “Have you done this before?” he asked quietly.

He saw Louis’ throat work when he swallowed as Harry slowly pushed in a first finger.

“I—Yes, but not—I haven’t really been with—I don’t have much... experience,” Louis admitted, stumbling over his words while Harry worked his finger in and out.

Harry lay down next to him on his side, pulling Louis closer, encouraging him to lift a leg over his own and slipping his hand between his legs again. “We’ll go slow,” Harry said, doing just that. “I’ll make it so good for you, Louis, I promise.”

“I trust you,” Louis said, biting down on his lip when Harry pushed in a second finger.

Harry bent down to kiss his forehead, his cheek, his mouth. He fingered Louis, careful and precise, until Louis was gasping and whining into his neck, his grip on Harry’s shoulder almost painful.

“You could come like this,” Harry told him, moving his fingers inside Louis at just the right angle. His thigh was sticky from Louis’ cock rubbing against it and his own cock was leaking onto his stomach. “ _I_ could come from this,” he said with a strangled laugh.

Louis shook his head with an unintelligible mumble, pushing weakly at Harry’s chest.

Harry pulled his fingers out of Louis carefully and raised himself on his arms, holding himself above Louis and helping him to wrap his legs around his waist. He licked his palm and wrapped it around his cock, spreading precome and getting it wet before he guided the head to Louis’ slick hole and pushed in slowly. “Shit. I’m going to last three seconds. Fuck. _Louis_.”

Louis’ breath hitched when Harry got the head of his cock inside him. “Harry, I need to come. Make me come, please,” he whimpered, as Harry worked his cock in. “Please, Harry.”

Harry rested on his forearms, back bowed, forehead pressed to Louis’ chest, breathing hard, holding himself still once he was fully inside.

Louis ran his fingers through Harry's hair, chest expanding and contracting in a stuttering rhythm.

“You feel so good,” Harry moaned, beginning to move his hips, barely pulling out before sliding back in. “Are you—Is it good, Lou?”

Louis dug his fingernails into Harry’s back, canting his hips up to meet Harry’s thrusts after a bit. “Mhm. ‘s good. Fuck, so good.”

Harry raised himself up to look at Louis, who buried his fingers in the sweat damp hair at the base of Harry’s neck and blinked at him, heavy-lidded and lashes wet. “Kiss me."

Harry bent down to kiss him with a moan, although they did little more than pant against each other.

Louis reached for his cock, knuckles brushing against Harry’s stomach as he stroked himself while Harry sped up his thrusts. “Harry. Don’t stop. I’m—” Louis gasped against Harry’s mouth.

Harry breathed out Louis’ name when he felt Louis clenching around his cock, wetness hitting his stomach when Louis came, head thrown back, crying out. Harry struggled to keep still while Louis came down from his orgasm, still spasming around his cock.

“C’mon, finish,” Louis slurred, scratching lightly at Harry’s scalp with one hand. “Harry, you can come.”

Harry sat back on his knees, pulling Louis with him, hoisting him onto his lap with his hands on his waist. Louis whined and let his legs go limp at either side of Harry’s body as Harry thrust into him a few times, fast and hard and out of rhythm, before going still. Harry hunched over as though he’d been punched in the stomach and came with a groan, buried deep inside Louis, his fingers tight on Louis’ hips.

After a few seconds, Harry loosened his grip on Louis, soothing the skin with his fingertips, his touch gentle as he lowered Louis’ legs onto the mattress and pulled out of him.

He crawled on the bed to lie next to him. “Lou? Was it good? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Harry asked urgently, running his fingertips up and down the inside of Louis’ forearm, mouthing at his shoulder.

Louis rolled onto his side and brought their lips together in a lazy kiss. “It was good. And you didn’t. Of course you didn’t.”

Harry let his eyes close while Louis pressed the softest kisses all over his face while brushing his hair off his neck, almost ticklish.

“Show me your drawings now,” Louis murmured, half-asleep.

Harry cracked an eye open. “Hm, later. Let’s sleep.”

The kisses stopped and the movement of Louis’ hand slowed. “I’m all sticky and wet,” he said, the words coming out slowly, though he didn’t seem overly preoccupied.

Harry patted his hand, but after a moment he rolled out of bed with a groan. “I’ll get something to clean us up.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Louis’ smile was droopy, eyelids heavy, limbs lethargic when Harry came back and cleaned him up before getting back into bed.

Louis nestled close to Harry with an arm around his waist. Harry was asleep within seconds.

 

Harry sat naked in his chair, legs spread indolently, fiddling with the camera balanced on his thigh but his eyes on Louis.

Louis was sitting cross-legged on the bed, white sheets thrown over his crotch and draped over his left leg, a handful of Harry’s drawings scattered around him. “I love this one,” he said, picking up one of the drawings with careful fingers. “Who is she? I recognize her face—She’s in some of the pictures you showed me.”

It was a drawing of a young woman on a horse, in riding attire, her hair escaping from under her hat and whipping behind her.

“She’s my sister.” Harry said quietly. “Gemma.”

Louis studied the drawing some more, reaching blindly for the glass of sparkling water on top of a stack of books by the bed and taking a sip. “I can see the resemblance. Is she in England?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. Although she and her husband visit Paris a lot. I still miss her, though. We don’t see each other that often.”

“How come?” Louis asked.

Harry sighed, eyes on the ceramic plate on the floor, littered with crumbs and flakes of pastry from their lunch. “It’s complicated.”

Louis gathered the drawings in a pile and set them on the chair next to the bed. “Oh?”

Harry pulled at his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Among other things, she thinks I’m stubborn,” he said at last.

“Are you?”

Harry let out a weak chuckle. “Maybe a little. I don’t know. It’s—We understand one another... but we can’t agree anyway.”

Louis hummed thoughtfully. “That happens sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Harry shrugged, keeping his eyes on the camera in his lap. “I suppose. It’s still sad though.”

He was startled out of his brooding by the rustle of the sheets and the slight creaking of the bed.

Louis leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs, letting both of his feet peek out under the sheet. He bit his lip and shot Harry a smile that was both shy and playful, gesturing at the camera with his chin. “You going to do anything with that?” he asked, voice deliberately light.

Harry sat up straight in a flash. “May I?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Louis rolled onto his front—the sheet winding around his lower body accentuating his curves—and looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised and the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

Harry hurried to snap a picture.

Louis giggled and buried his face in the pillow, shoulders shaking with laughter. Harry snapped another picture before scrambling to his feet, circling the bed for better lighting. The afternoon sunlight was weak and pale after the morning rain, and it lit Louis up in the white sheets like an angel in a painting.

_Snap._

Louis pillowed his head in his arms, turning his head toward Harry and peering at him with the bottom half of his face hidden behind his arm. Harry could tell he was smiling from the crinkles around his eyes, which were half moons of dark lashes when Harry took another picture, and another.

Louis stretched out his arms then, arching his back so that the sheets slid down almost to the swell of his arse.

_Snap._

Harry knelt on the bed next to Louis. “It’s a little overwhelming,” he said, putting the camera down on the floor.

Louis blinked at him in surprise. “What is?”

“Having you in my bed.”

A bright smile bloomed on Louis’ face. “It’s a comfortable bed. I quite like it here.”

Harry needed a moment before he could speak over the lump in his throat. “You’re so beautiful, Louis. I could just sit and look at you for the rest of my life,” he said honestly.

“You can do more than look,” Louis whispered, voice shaking. “I want you to touch me.”

Harry groaned and cupped a hand over his swelling cock, giving it a squeeze. He moved closer to kiss Louis’ shoulders and the nape of his neck while smoothing a palm up the curve of his spine.

“I was thinking...” Harry moved to kneel between Louis’ legs, reaching for a pillow that had ended up at the foot of the bed. He slid his hands down Louis’ sides, fitting around the dip of his waist and then tilting his hips up to slip the pillow underneath his pelvis. “I was thinking I’d really like to taste you—”

Louis made a high-pitched sound of surprise when Harry pulled down the sheets in one hard tug. “Ah. _Harry._ ” His voice broke when Harry palmed his arse, spreading him open, brushing his thumbs against Louis’ hole.

“—every inch of you.” Harry kissed down Louis’ spine, sliding down the bed. “Is that all right?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss between the dimples in his lower back.

“Yes,” Louis whimpered. “Anything. Everything with you, Harry.”

Harry moaned, and Louis keened at the first touch of Harry’s tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis had poliomyelitis which can result in muscle atrophy and _pes cavus_ , with osteoarthritis of the ankle as one among a number of possible complications.
> 
> Reference for what Taylor and Selena would be wearing. [here](http://petapixel.com/assets/uploads/2012/07/street2_mini.jpg) and [here](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2012/07/15/article-0-141251E1000005DC-938_310x548.jpg)


	8. Chapter 8

“Again?” Louis muttered, tapping his fingers impatiently on the armrest of the seat in the theatre. His face was focused, mouth twitching in disapproval as he watched the actors on the stage.

Harry tilted his head toward him, keeping an eye on the stage but with most of his attention on Louis.

“He forgot his line again,” Louis explained. “My French isn’t all that good and I could still tell! Disgraceful.” He made a sudden movement, as though he were going to write something down on a notebook before he realised.

Harry snorted with laughter at the sight.

Louis smothered a self-conscious giggle in the palm of his hand. “Force of habit. I work as a critic. It’s what I _do_.”

“Am I to expect a review of my performance yesterday, then?” Harry whispered back with a grin.

Louis knocked Harry’s knee with his own. “You got live commentary.”

Harry let out a too loud cackle. “Not a very articulate one. But it seemed like positive feedback.”

Curling forward, Louis covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Shut up, Harold,” he managed after a moment, emerging from behind his hands with a blush visible despite the dim lighting of the theatre.

Harry settled back to continue watching the play with a wide grin, even as on stage one of the protagonists, abandoned by her lover, sobbed dramatically into her pillow.

 

They went for a walk after leaving the theatre, wandering without set direction at first, close enough that their arms brushed together with every other step. It was a fine night with weather so mild it felt like summer again. They set their course drawn by the unmissable beacon of the Eiffel Tower, lit up with thousands of electric lamps.

“Are you certain you’re all right to walk that far, though?” Harry asked.

Louis made a face. “Don’t, Harry.”

“Sorry. I—”

Louis kicked a bit of gravel from the park path under his feet, ducking his head. “I know. It’s me—I’m a little touchy about the subject. But I’ll tell you if I’m not all right, okay?”

Harry nodded, biting his lip. “Sorry,” he repeated.

They walked in silence for two minutes before Louis spoke again, carefully looking straight ahead and walking a bit faster. “It’s just... I hate being treated like an invalid. I’m not.”

Harry, trailing behind him, pinched his bottom lip between two fingers. “I didn’t mean to. I was worried about you having a hard time.”

Louis let out a heaving sigh, but slowed down to walk at Harry’s side again. “I know. And thank you for... looking out for me. But sometimes—Have you ever felt like the people around you act like they know what’s best for you? If I say I can manage it’s because I can. And if it turns out I can’t, I still need to figure it out for myself. D’you know what I mean?” He turned to look at Harry, a slight crease between his eyebrows.

“Yes. I know exactly what you mean.” Harry’s whole face furrowed in thought, looking past Louis. “But maybe... maybe there are times when it’s a matter of plain pigheadedness and we’re only making things difficult for ourselves.”

“Is this about you and your sister?” Louis asked quietly.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Harry glanced up at the night sky, looking glum. He didn’t react when his top hat toppled off his head beyond bending down to pick it up with a small sigh.

“I need to sit down for a moment,” Louis said abruptly.

He led them to a stone bench by the side of the path. The light overhead was out, but Harry could make out Louis’ face in the bright moonlight, expression attentive and sincere.

Harry took a deep breath, emboldened by Louis linking their pinkies together between their thighs, invisible in the darkness. “I used to think when I first moved here that I had everything figured out. But now... it’s like I’ve realised I’ve only just started to find myself.”

Louis considered him for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s good, though.”

“How is it good?” Harry asked, confused and despairing.

Louis gave his hand a squeeze. “Harry,” he said, gently. “You’re _twenty-two_. You’ve still got time to discover yourself, love.” He went silent, studying Harry with an almost pained expression on his face. “I wish you could see that you could do anything you set your mind to if you allowed yourself the freedom to just... be yourself. Without worrying so much about what other people think.”

Harry swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, eyes prickling. “That’s... Thank you, Louis. For saying that.”

To Harry’s surprise, Louis leaned in to embrace him. Throwing his arms around his shoulders, he didn’t let go until Harry pulled back.

“You should listen to me. I’m very wise, you know,” Louis said in a light tone when they broke apart, smiling softly as Harry wiped the wetness from his eyes.

Harry chuckled. “You are,” he said quietly. Then, in a teasing voice which was still a little wet and strangled. “Who’d have thought?”

“Oi! I’m a respected critic. I’ve won literary contests, I’ll have you know,” Louis replied in mock affront.

Harry went wide-eyed. “What? Really?”

Louis pouted. “Don’t sound so surprised, Harold.”

Harry shook his head frantically. “No. I mean—I didn’t know you also wrote like—I thought you were joking about the poetry,” he faltered.

Louis shrugged, expression sheepish. “Well, I was... mostly. But I do write. Or I wrote,” he said with a tired exhalation. “I’ve been writing reviews for so long, I’ve kind of forgotten how to write for myself.”

“What did you used to write?” Harry asked curiously.

Louis shrugged. “Stories. Thoughts. Feelings.” He heaved another sigh. “I string a few words together every once in a while, but there’s something missing. Like, there’s all this...” He made a vague gesture with his hands in front of his chest. “All this stuff inside me, but I can’t—It’s locked up. And the key is out there somewhere, and I’m searching for it. So I guess I’m still trying to find myself too.”

Harry returned his smile, his chest tight with emotion. “Maybe Paris is the place. It’s said to be very inspiring.”

Louis looked at him for a long moment, a small smile on his face. “Yes. I think it might be.”

 

The hydraulic lifts took them up to the highest level allowed on the Eiffel Tower, where the world was reduced to warm lights and velvet blue darkness. Louis stood at the very edge of the platform, leaning over the railing with the breeze blowing his hair back from his face and his eyes the palest blue because of the lighting.

Harry stood back, his mouth dry and hands shaking even though he avoided looking down and instead kept his eyes on Louis, whose face was alight with awe.  
He went over to join him, nonetheless, when Louis waved him over.

Harry put his trembling hands on the railing, squeezing his eyes shut. Louis pressed close so that their bodies touched shoulder to hip.

“Come back with me,” Louis whispered, slipping a hand under Harry’s on the railing.

Harry’s eyes shot open, breath catching in his chest.

“Come back to the hotel with me?”

Harry’s breath rushed out in whoosh. “To the hotel?”

Louis tilted his head up to smile at Harry, though there was a slight tremor at the corners of his mouth. "Will you?"

“Yes. _Please._ ” Harry laced their fingers together. “I’ve been dying to kiss you all night.”

 

They took a cab to the hotel, where a pimpled boy who couldn’t be more than sixteen took two tries before he could close the gates of the lift to take them up to their floor.

“No luck with the ladies tonight?” he said through a yawn in accented English, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He quickly tagged on a ‘sirs’ with a wince.

Harry and Louis laughed.

“None at all,” Harry replied easily. “But I haven’t given up on getting lucky just yet.”

“The night is still young,” Louis agreed, face comically serious while shooting Harry a wink behind the boy’s back.

The boy looked confused as he stopped the lift on their floor. “ _Bonne nuit, monsieurs_.”

“Good night!”

When they stepped into the room they both burst into laughter.

Then Louis stepped straight into Harry’s space, his hands on the swell of Harry’s hips. “I’ll have you know I invited you up for a nightcap, Harold,” he teased.

“Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Harry echoed, voice low, holding Louis close with his hands spread on his lower back.

“Mhm.” Louis got on his tiptoes for a second and pressed their lips together in a barely-there touch. “Unless you had something in mind?” he murmured.

Harry’s hands slipped lower. “I’ve got a few ideas.”  


The headboard banged against the wall with every one of Harry’s thrusts, while Louis tried to muffle his moans in a pillow, gripping it tight with both hands.

“Let me hear you,” Harry begged, panting, hands spanning Louis’ waist, lifting him up a little as Louis’ knees slipped in the sheets.

“Niall’s... in... room... next door,” Louis replied, the words coming out in breathless wet gasps.

“He’s asleep. I don’t care. _Fuck_ , Louis, you're—” Harry rambled, breaking off into a moan, the movement of his hips stuttering.

He pulled out, breathing hard, cock twitching at the sound of Louis’ displeased whine as he arched his back, pushing his arse up.

“Wait. Let me—” Harry encouraged Louis onto his side and lay down behind him, running a hand up the back of Louis’ right thigh to bring his leg up to his chest. He smoothed his hand down the back of his thigh again before going lower to guide his cock to Louis’ hole.

When Harry pushed back inside, Louis whimpered and reached for his cock, their fingers tangling as Harry did the same.

“Feel good?” Harry murmured against his neck, running his thumb in circles on the wet head of Louis’ cock before sliding down in a tight squeeze, while he rocked his hips in a tight movement.

“Good,” Louis echoed faintly, holding onto Harry’s arm with one hand, the other fondling his balls, slipping lower to ghost trembling fingers over where he was stretched around Harry’s cock. “Don’t stop.”

Harry gave a breathless chuckle, sweat beading his upper lip, as he sped up the movement of his hand. “I wasn’t planning to. Not until you come on my cock. All over my fingers. All over yourself.”

The muscles on Louis’ stomach and thighs quivered with tension, chest heaving. “Gonna come.” Louis’ voice went high. He turned his neck to press his mouth sloppily to Harry’s jaw, moaning in the back of his throat.

Harry bit down on Louis’ shoulder, eyes squeezed tight as he came with a groan, the movement of his hand on Louis’ cock faltering.

“Sorry, fuck,” Harry moaned. But the next moment he felt Louis tighten around his cock while wetness spread over his knuckles and between his fingers.

Their panting filled the room for a couple of minutes as they lay unmoving, loose and lethargic.

“It’s fine,” Louis mumbled after he’d caught his breath. “I just won’t be able to look at Niall in the eyes for some time, it’s all good.”

Harry wheezed with laughter, nosing at the damp hair on the back of Louis’ head. “That’s not what I was apologizing for. And odds are he’s sound asleep and didn’t hear a thing.”

Louis made a disbelieving sound and patted Harry’s hand where it rested on his chest. “Mhm.”

Harry kissed his cheek and Louis puckered his lips, asking for a kiss.

“Good thing Zayn’s at the end of the hall,” Louis said when they broke apart, squinting at Harry. He broke down in a matter of seconds into mischievous giggles.

Harry pretended to growl, and rolled on top of Louis, tickling and attacking him with kisses.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry’s face contorted as he tried to stifle a yawn, fumbling with the door handle to close the door behind him. He squinted in the light in the hall and froze, his mouth still open, when he came face to face with Niall.

Niall was dressed for the day, clothing impeccable and styled hair. In contrast with Harry who had simply run his fingers through his hair and thrown on his shirt and trousers. His waistcoat was lopsided because he’d buttoned it wrong.

“G’morning,” Harry croaked.

Niall burst out laughing, his face turning pink. “Good afternoon, more like. It’s past noon. I’ve been running errands all morning.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, momentarily distracted from his embarrassment. “Does that mean they’re not doing breakfast anymore?”

Niall visibly held back more laughter. “I’m sure you can get whatever you want from room service,” he said, patting Harry’s arm kindly.

Harry beamed. “Great. I thought I’d surprise Louis with breakfast.”

“That’s so sweet,” Niall said without a hint of sarcasm, smiling at Harry. “Do you think you’ll be fucking again after, though? ‘Cause if you are, I’ll take Zayn out to lunch and finish some paperwork I’ve got to do later.”

Harry spluttered, choking on his saliva.

Niall clapped his shoulder, then rubbed a few circles on his back. “The walls are paper thin, mate. I woke up thinking there was an earthquake or something, the picture frame above my bed was shaking.”

Harry’s face was on fire, nervous laughter bubbling up. “Um, I need to go see a man about a horse—” He made an exaggerated motion as though he were about to walk off.

Niall cackled. “You’re swell, Harry.” He sighed in contentment. “I can’t complain as it is—good business and excellent luck at the races—but the trip would still have been worth it just to get the two of you together.”

“Are you giving me your blessing?” Harry quipped, but he clasped Niall’s hand in a grateful handshake when Niall nodded, chuckling.

“Louis is one of my best mates. I just want to see him happy. Or it’s enough to _know_ he’s happy, really. I already heard it—I’d rather not see it.”

 

After he left the hotel, Harry took the metro to visit Liam at work. He went through the back door of the music hall theatre, which opened to an alley littered with cigarette butts and smelling of rank wine. The musician who opened the door for Harry led him straight to Liam, who was on a break from his rehearsal.

Harry waved at Liam, shooting him a grin, when he caught his eye. Liam clapped a hand on a pianist’s back and went over to Harry after excusing himself.

“Hey, H. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Harry laughed. “I love you too, Liam.”

Liam ruffled his hair, which was still kind of a mess, then looked him over, his brow furrowing as he took him in. “What have you been up to? I though you’d returned that.”

Harry smoothed the right lapel of his tailcoat which was wrinkled where Louis had held onto it. “I thought I’d keep a little longer. And I’m glad I did—we went to the theatre last night.”

Liam led Harry over to the bar, where he poured himself and Harry some sparkling water. “But how did you get it so wrinkled?” he asked in confusion before his face morphed into a horrified expression. “And you’re missing a button!”

Harry glanced down at his chest. “Oh. You’re right.”

Liam sipped at his water, regarding Harry with narrowed eyes. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, face impassive. “Yes, if you must know. What does that have to do with anything?”

Liam reached behind the bar for a jar of olives and popped one in his mouth. “I just don’t think it was a good idea. You’re already getting so... attached. It’s only bound to get worse now that you two have... done the deed.”

Harry made a face at Liam’s choice of words. “Niall was very supportive, what’s your problem?”

Liam’s eyes bugged. “Niall? How does he know? What did you do, make an announcement afterwards?”

Harry reached over to flick Liam on the cheek, prompting a whine. “You’re sleeping with Sophia, aren’t you? Even though you’re unmarried. When have I ever said a word against it?”

“It’s completely different.”

Harry shot him a dangerous look. “Why?” he demanded.

Liam returned his glare, unimpressed. “Because I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not. Or have you told him the truth yet?”

Harry fish-mouthed, then closed his jaw, muscles tight. “No.”

Liam pushed the jar of olives toward Harry with a sigh. “You’ve always been so fucking honest—about everything. Wouldn’t lie to save your life. You’re very guarded—closed off even—but always honest. I don’t get it, Harry.”

Harry leaned on his elbows on the bar and shook out his hair in a frustrated gesture. “I don’t know, Liam. I don’t know what you want me to say. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“That’s the problem. It’s as if... when it comes to Louis, none of the rules apply.”

Harry went still, head in his hands. “They don’t,” he admitted finally.

They remained in silence for a couple of minutes, Liam watching Harry while he stared at the wall of liquor bottles, gaze faraway.

“Hey, Liam.”

“Hm?”

“Can you get me one of those bottles of wine?”

Liam looked to where Harry was pointing at an empty bottle that had been left out. “For a price. That’s not a cheap bottle!”

His laughter died abruptly when Harry reached into his pocket for his wallet.

“What are you doing?” Liam asked in a hush.

“I want to take Louis on a picnic. He loves that wine.”

Liam stared at the banknotes Harry had pushed into his hand. “But this is a lot.”

Harry shot him an indignant look. “I’m not going to serve him cheap vinegar wine, Liam.”

Liam shook his head. “You’re going to burn through all the money you got at the auction. And those were the last of your grandmother’s things.”

Harry shrugged, discomfited. “Louis is very generous with his money. It’s only right—”

Liam huffed and puffed. “He came on a pleasure trip to Paris and is staying at a damn nice hotel. He can afford to be generous! You can’t!”

Harry locked his jaw, obstinate. “He’s worth it.”

“But what about after?” Liam said, voice quiet. “After he’s...”

“Gone?” Harry finished for him, voice trembling. “I don’t know.” He closed his wallet with a snap, refusing to take the money back. “All I know is right now I want to give him everything I can. Maybe I can’t offer him a future, but I can give him this. Ten days to remember.”

Liam gave a long sigh. “Oh, Harry, you love sick fool.”


	10. Chapter 10

Zayn watched Louis with narrowed eyes; Louis had started walking faster in excited bursts of energy, chewing on his bottom lip to contain a grin while casting glances up ahead.

“We could stop by and say hello to Harry,” Louis said with an attempt at nonchalance. “Since we’re in the area.”

Zayn stopped in his tracks. “There it is.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You planned this.”

Louis widened his eyes innocently. “No I didn’t. I just thought it’d be a nice little surprise, since we’re around.”

Zayn looked at him, unimpressed. “Right.” He rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh as he started walking again. “You spent all day with him yesterday. And this morning too. Don’t you get tired of each other?”

Louis couldn’t contain a smile, a skip in his step even after he tripped over the cobblestone. “Not all day. I had dinner with you and Niall.”

“You sat with us while we had dinner,” Zayn corrected.

“I was still full from the picnic. Harry packed so much food—it’s ridiculous. He didn’t forget anything.”

Zayn shook his head a little, but his lips twitched. “You’re embarrassing.”

Louis bit his lip, fighting back a blush. He elbowed Zayn in the side. “Shut up.”

Zayn clucked his tongue. “At least he had the sense not to keep you traipsing all over the place. I can tell your leg is bothering you more than usual.”

“No it’s not,” Louis sputtered, stumbling again.

Zayn steadied him. “Mhm.”

Louis brushed him off, but slowed his pace. “We’ll only be a minute,” he said, tone considerably subdued.

“C’mon, let’s get this over with,” Zayn sighed, following Louis who pressed on ahead, walking stiffly with his head down.

But when they asked after Harry Styles at the entrance, nobody seemed to know him. They went around the length of the museum to the _Porte des Lions_. Instead of Paul there was a younger French guard, chatting with a smart-looking woman.  
Louis could understand enough French to catch that she worked at the museum, and she was quite firm that there was no Harry, Styles or otherwise, working there.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation for this,” Louis said dumbly as they walked away.

“There better be,” Zayn growled.

*

The wet sand made a squelching noise as Harry hunkered down to toss the stone into the river—it skipped three times, causing ripples in the water painted pink by the sunset.

“Are you going to tell me?” Louis asked all of a sudden.

He didn’t look at Harry but kept his gaze fixed on the rippling water instead.

“Tell you what?” Harry asked, voice laced with tension. He peered at Louis through the growing gloom, shivering at the damp coolness of the air in the little patch of riverbank at the foot of a bridge; out of sight from the street because of its position at the bottom of a steep slope and further shielded from view by bushes of wild blackberry.

Louis glanced at him, mouth twisted into a wry smile. “The truth. About what it is you do for a living—which is not working at the Louvre, apparently.”

Harry froze, the stone dropping from his hand with a plop. “I—How—”

Louis’ stone fell flat when he tried to make it skip. “I stopped by the museum yesterday,” he said simply. “And no Harry Styles works there. So unless what you lied about was your name—which would be rather bizarre after we fucked and I kept saying Ha—”

Harry flinched. “I lied about working at the museum,” he cut in hurriedly. “My name’s definitely Harry. _Shit_.”

Louis turned to face him, expression pensive. “Why did you lie?”

Harry gripped the hair at the back of his head. “I don’t know! I wanted to impress you. What could I say in front of a theatre critic and a trader in antiques? I panicked.”

Louis stepped closer to him, face softening. “You make it sound much more impressive than it is. And relax, I don’t like you for your job, you know.”

Harry kept his head down, shoulders hunched. “It’s still embarrassing.”

Louis looked at Harry for a long moment, arms wrapped around his middle and bottom lip between his teeth, then went up to stand at his side. “Don’t be silly, Harold. Talk to me.”

Harry peeked at Louis, forehead creased. “You’re really not mad?”

Louis looked down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together. “I think there’s a good reason why you thought you had to lie. And I’d like to hear it.”

Harry gave a slow nod. “I want to tell you.”

Louis gave his elbow an encouraging squeeze.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, gripping his arm right where Louis had just rested his hand. “I guess I should start with when my mum died. I was fourteen, and it happened just two months after Gemma was married. It was... it was hard. But Gemma’s marriage was an advantageous one, and she was happy with her husband. Our father had left for the colonies when we were children—I don’t even remember him. I don’t know, I suppose with mum gone and no father I latched onto Gemma and Alphonse—her husband. I kind of idolized him at first.”

Harry gave a humourless bark of laughter, shaking his head. “It wasn’t mutual—he let me know he didn’t approve of a lot of things about me. So he became everything I thought I wanted to be.” He shot Louis an imploring look. “I thought if Gemma loved him so much it had to be for a reason, right?”

Louis nudged the tip of his shoe against Harry’s in a comforting gesture.

“He arranged for me to study Law and planned for me to work for him once I graduated. I thought for some time that I could do it: change. But I started to resent the pressure... the expectations. I realized ‘doing him proud’ was just what he called doing what was needed to show everyone that he’d fixed his wife’s deviant little brother. He wanted to make me into a proper ‘man’—whatever that means—and we started to clash. After a year I quit university and came to Paris. My mum’s mother took me in without question. Even when I told her I wanted to be an artist. I lived with her for two years before she passed suddenly.”

“I’m sorry.”

Harry offered him a small smile. “She was really good to me.”

“So what happened?” Louis prompted when Harry remained silent.

“Gemma and I are sole beneficiaries in her will. I don’t think she had much to pass on, but Alphonse has decided to keep me from my inheritance—whatever it is—as punishment for running off and embarrassing him. He has the execution of the will frozen on some legal technicalities.”

“What a bastard.”

Harry’s snort of laughter was strangled. “Yes. Gemma’s not very happy with him about this.” He sighed. “But she also thinks I’m being stubborn because what Alphonse offered me was good and she doesn’t—She understands why I resented the whole thing but she still thinks I should have finished Law and gone to work for him.”

Louis made a sympathetic face. “So what have you been doing since your grandmother passed?”

“I lived with her in a rented flat, but I got to keep some of her possessions. I didn’t mean to sell them at first... But I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to _do_ anything. I sold all I had left of her, little by little, and took advantage of friends who are too good for me.” Harry’s voice got progressively quieter with shame. “And now I don’t have anything left. Which means my source of income is exhausted, and I feel like I sold my grandmother.” He buried his face in his hands. “I’m a mess.”

Louis reached out to grip Harry’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. “Harry. You didn’t sell your grandma, love. I’m sure she would have wanted you to use whatever you needed. But there’s one thing I don’t understand: you came to be an artist but you won’t even try selling your art?”

Harry groaned, letting his hands fall limp at his sides. “Because I’m a fucking coward.”

Louis hesitated, then embraced him, catching Harry by surprise. “You deserve to live the life you want to live, Harry. Not to be miserable on a life imposed on you. We’ll figure something out, all right? I’ll help you. You’ll make it work.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist, holding him close. “I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you, Lou,” he said fervently.

A confused breath of laughter was squeezed out of Louis as Harry tightened his arms around him. “You already have me.”

Harry buried his face in the crook of Louis’ neck, breathing harsh with restrained emotion.

Louis didn’t pull back. Instead he rubbed Harry’s back comfortingly, cheek pressed to Harry’s hair.  “Listen, love, I was raised on plain porridge and fried flour. I went to school on a scholarship. I couldn’t care less whether you have money.”

“I didn’t know that,” Harry mumbled against the side of Louis’ neck.

“Well now you do. I was dirt poor, really. The only reason I got proper treatment when I got sick was because my mum was friends with a young medical student who was nice enough to take laundering services as payment.”

“Good man.”

Louis nodded. “Doctor James Corden. He’s still my doctor and a close friend.”

Harry gathered Louis even closer, almost lifting him off his feet. “I never want you to go through that kind of thing again. I never want you to have to struggle again.”

Louis gave him a squeeze before breaking their embrace. “You’re too sweet, Harry.”

Harry didn’t let him go far, taking his hand. “I’m sorry I lied to you. But I promise, Lou, I only lied about that. Everything else was true. I showed you my drawings; you can’t lie in a drawing. You _saw me_.”

Louis curled his fingers around Harry’s. “I believe you and I forgive you. But you’ll have to make it up to me, Harold.”

Harry straightened his back, standing at full attention. “Anything. Name it.”

“Um. I didn’t really—I hadn’t—” Louis said with a small chuckle. Abruptly the sheepish expression on his face disappeared, mouth going slack.

Harry waited, baffled.

Louis bit back nervous laughter, then leaned in to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Take me to bed and get your mouth on me again. Like after the first time in your flat?”

Harry fish-mouthed, genuinely confused. “I thought it was supposed to be penance. That’s a reward!”

Louis covered his mouth with both hands when he laughed.

Harry pulled Louis in with a hand to the back of his neck. “Lou, punishment is having to keep my hands and my mouth _off_ you,” he said, letting his lips brush against Louis’ ear.

Louis’ breathing stuttered even as he squirmed to put some distance between him and Harry. “All right. Then promise me you’ll enter a contest or look into putting your art up for exhibition somehow,” he said, suddenly serious.

Harry was struck dumb.

“Promise me, Harry,” Louis insisted, pinching the back of Harry’s wrist.

Harry stilled his hand and locked their pinkies together. “I promise.”

Louis nodded, satisfied, his gaze lingering on their joined hands before he looked up at the falling darkness. “I should probably get back to the hotel,” he said with a sigh.

Harry tensed, entwining his fingers with Louis in a tight grip. “Don’t. Come back to my place. Stay the night.”

“I still haven’t packed,” Louis said without pulling his hand back.

“You can do it tomorrow. The train doesn’t leave till ten. I’ll make you breakfast myself, bright and early. Please, Louis,” Harry begged shamelessly. “I want my bed to smell like you.”

“Not planning on washing the sheets again, are you?” Louis teased, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze.

“I want to get it in so deep it won’t wash out.”

“How are you planning on doing that?” Louis rasped.

Harry’s answer was nothing but a heated look.

Louis licked his lips, his eyes flickering to Harry’s mouth. “Right. I see I can’t expect to get any rest at your place... Good thing I can sleep all the way back to London.”

He smiled at Harry, face bright, but his smile faltered and flickered out after a moment.

Harry pressed their hands to his chest. “I’ll be going back to England soon,” he said, reading Louis’ sadness. “It’s time I made things right.”

Louis bit his quivering bottom lip. “So I’ll see you soon?”

Harry’s voice trembled when he answered. “Soon.”

Louis nodded and disentangled their fingers, but didn’t pull his hand back immediately. Instead he aligned their palms and fingers and drew back in a slow, deliberate movement. “Don’t delay. I might miss you,” he said, voice shaking.

Before Louis’ fingers could slide off his open palm, Harry closed his hand, trapping them in place. In a quick move he brought Louis’ hand to his lips and pressed a hard, fervent kiss against his palm. “You’ll be all I think about.”

*

“I can’t wait to get off this fucking boat,” Zayn muttered as the deck heaved beneath their feet, the sea somewhat agitated.

“We’ve not even left port yet!” Niall laughed. “I told you we should have drugged him, Louis.”

Zayn shot him a glare, but the effect was lost because of how green about the gills he looked already.

Louis paid them no mind, watching the crowd on the docks with downcast eyes.

Niall wrapped an arm around him and pulled him into a brief half hug. “You’ll see him soon enough. He couldn’t stay away if he wanted to, I reckon.”

Louis rolled his eyes but his lips curved into a small smile.


	11. Chapter 11

The stinging cold rain was loud as it hit the pavement, stirring up miniature storms in all the deep puddles; dirty water rushed down the street in a roaring torrent. Louis perched on a low window ledge of the large stone building, sheltered by the overhang at the front. Bundled up in his thick winter coat, he tried and failed to light a cigarette in the wind, letting it dangle limp and useless from his fingers while he waited. Several men exited the gentleman’s club and sprinted to a waiting cab or hansom, which splashed everything within a five feet distance as it set off.

Niall skipped down the stairs from the front door, looking to either side as he pulled his coat tighter around him. His face lit up when he located Louis.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Louis. I saw someone I knew and had to stop,” Niall said as he went up to stand next to Louis.

“Is there anyone you _don’t_ know?” Louis teased, although the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Niall chuckled. “The pope. The Queen. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “It’s only a matter of time. You’ll probably end up knighted or something.”

Niall laughed hard, rubbing his hands together against the cold. “I can’t, I’m Irish,” he replied, like it was the only impediment.

“Honorary knighthood?”

Niall shrugged, still chuckling. “Not sure it’s worth it if I can’t add the sir to my name, to be honest.”

Louis offered a small smile, but let the conversation die, looking back out at the street.

Niall watched him with concern, his face falling. “Haven’t heard from him, have you?” he asked quietly.

Louis didn’t even turn to look at him. “It’s been five months, Niall, please stop asking.”

Niall bit his nails. “But you’ve tried to get in touch? Maybe he lost your address, or—”

“For the hundredth time: I wrote to him—several times. He never answered. I even tried to get in touch with Liam. He told me—” Louis faltered, stumbling over Harry’s name. “He told me Harry was figuring some stuff out.”

“Oh.” Niall visibly deflated.

Louis’ jaw trembled. “It’s my fault: I fell too hard. It makes sense, anyway: he’s young and... and beautiful, and very talented—why would he want to tie himself down to a cripple?” Voice breaking, he pushed himself off from the wall, reaching for his crutch and limping toward the street, signalling the doorman to hail him a cab.

Niall’s face crumpled. “ _Louis!_ ” he called after him, following quickly.

Louis had to let Niall help him into the hansom. He sat down at the end of the seat, turning to face out the window.

Niall kept his distance, but didn’t avert his eyes from the tense line of Louis’ jaw. “That doesn’t sound like Harry at all,” he said finally.

Louis shot him a sidelong glance. “It is what it is, Niall. Zayn’s right. I have to... get on with my life. Move on.”

Niall slumped back in his seat with a sigh. “At least you’re writing again, aren’t you?” he said after a moment, perking up.

Louis summoned a tight smile. “Right.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me and the lads for tea?” Niall insisted, as they turned the corner into the street where Louis had his flat. “Ed’s back in London. And that Austrian journalist—what’s his name? You liked him when we met over Christmas?”

Louis hesitated, then shook his head, already reaching for his crutch. “No, I’ve got work.”

“Well. We’ll be at the pub if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, Niall.”

The hansom clattered to a stop in front of his building and Louis clambered out, declining Niall’s offer to walk him to the door. Hunched over against the rain and the wind, Louis hobbled across the flooded front garden and hurried inside.

Louis’ steps were muffled in the carpet as he went up the stairs. He shrugged off his coat and suit jacket as he crossed the living room to his office. The fire was banked low and the room was in heavy gloom, the furniture and assorted objects on it little more than shadows and unidentifiable shapes. Louis unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt collar and sank into a worn, wingback armchair, bending down to take off his wet shoes and socks before settling back in the chair.

“Sir?”

An old woman’s voice called out from the hall. The sound of her shuffling footsteps and groaning as she picked up after him were audible for a moment before she gave a cursory knock and pushed the door open.

She paused at the entrance to the office, sighing when she saw Louis sitting in the darkness. Then she bustled inside, lighting the ceiling gas lamp with determination etched on her face. Louis winced at the sudden brightness, blinking the glare out of his eyes while she went to stir up the fire.

She heaved another sigh, bent over as she poked at the fire in the grate. “You came back from Paris full of new life. And now…”

Louis shrugged, curling up in his chair. “Everyone comes back from a holiday in good spirits, Eloise. You were floating around for weeks after that trip to the seaside with your daughter.”

Eloise shook her head and turned to face him, hands on her hips. “It was different. You’ve traveled before and it was never like that.” She lowered her voice. “I thought you might have… _met someone_ ,” she said, barely moving her lips.

The shadow of a smile flickered over Louis’ face at her theatrics.

“After all—Paris! Everyone knows it’s full of…” She made a flapping motion with her hands. “ _You know_. It’s better over there for that sort of thing, isn’t it?”

Louis rubbed two fingers over his brow, between exasperation and amusement. “I suppose, yes. But I’m here. And there’s no one. Just me and my books and my papers, how it’s always been.”

Eloise made a sound of frustration. “But that’s it! It breaks my heart. If you’d only find yourself a nice girl. Even if you—But, well, everyone does it, don’t they?” she babbled.

Louis shook his head, face screwing up in distaste.  “No, thank you. I’m fine, Eloise. _Really_.”

With another dramatic exhalation, Eloise turned her attention to her surroundings. “And the state of this room,” she muttered.

A few throw pillows were scattered around the room and there was a blanket half hanging off the chair where he sat down to write. The writing desk was littered with papers and splattered with ink. One of the drawers was open, revealing a stack of paper covered in neat, small handwriting. Louis made an abrupt movement when he saw her eyes fall on it.

“At least you’re writing again,” she said in a pleased tone. “Is it a novel? She bent her neck to squint at the contents of the drawer, though she made no move to reach for the papers.

Louis made a noncommittal noise. “I’m parched, Elli. Please…?”

“Your tea. Of course. I’ll have it right up—” Eloise got sidetracked, her eyes dragging as her attention was caught by a letter on the table. “Do you need that letter posted?” she asked. “I can send Billy first thing in the morning.”

Louis tensed. “No. No.” He scrambled out of his chair and stood in front of the writing desk, blocking the letter from view. “No, thank you. Tea, please?”

Eloise stared at him in bemusement. “Yes, sir,” she said finally before leaving the room. 

Louis waited until her footsteps had retreated down the stairs before he turned around to face the writing desk. He picked up the letter: two pages long in cramped handwriting. ‘Harry, my dearest’ it began. And ended with a ‘Yours, Louis’. His hands trembled, fingers tightening, wrinkling the paper slightly. He made an aborted movement toward the fireplace, but slipped the letter in the open drawer instead. The drawer which was filled with dozens of letters of the same kind.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” he hissed under his breath, gripping the edge of the writing desk.

Louis rushed to dress himself again. “Eloise! Hold that tea. I’m going out.”

He slammed the door behind him, the crutch making a sharp noise as he hurried across the hall.


	12. Chapter 12

Zayn stood to a side watching Louis as he made polite conversation with the attendant of the coatroom, giving his top hat a twirl before handing it over and taking the ticket with a small smile.

“Ready?” Louis said as he joined Zayn by the entrance to the art exhibition.

Zayn nodded; the intensity of his gaze made Louis raise his eyebrows.

“What is it?” Louis asked as they started off down the wide corridor toward the exhibition rooms.

The dark wood floor gleamed in the warm light of the wall lamps, with their wrought brass sconces and etched glass. Their steps rang in the empty passage, though the murmur of voices could be made out at the end of the hall.

“Nothing. Only it’s good to see you out and about again.”

Louis shrugged, uncomfortable. “I’ve been out.”

“Barely. You’ve spent the last few months hiding out in your flat.”

Louis tugged at the flaps of his tailcoat, fingers twisting around the hem. “I haven’t been hiding. I’ve been… busy.”

“Busy moping.”

Louis frowned at Zayn and clipped him in the ankle with his crutch. “I’ve had work and I’ve been—You know after I hurt my ankle I’ve been—” he faltered.

Zayn reached out to grip Louis’ shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just happy you’re doing better, pet.”

Louis gave a short nod. “I’m working on it—getting better,” he said in a small voice.

Zayn gave his shoulder another squeeze and his upper arm a subtle rub before letting go. “That’s good. This is good.”

The first exhibition room was vast and showed a collection of paintings: compositions of dull colours and geometric shapes stood alongside soft, pastel landscapes, and broadstroke designs in bright primary colors.

“I’ve heard about this exposition; all new, unknown artists in different mediums,” Zayn said, casting a look around with interest.

“I have no idea,” Louis admitted. “I received an invitation, and it was a reason to go out that’s not for work.”

Zayn studied a dark, smudged paint portrait. “Who sent you the invitation?” he asked absently. “Is there anyone we know in the exhibit?”

Louis trailed behind him, looking at the paintings without much interest.  “I don’t know. Eloise didn’t get the name.”

They wandered into the next room, which had realistic oil portraits on display. It wasn’t until they reached a room with a focus on art photography that Louis perked up. A bit of a crowd had concentrated in this room, with people milling about and waiting to get a closer look at the pictures: low tone photographs that looked almost like charcoal drawings.

“These are nice,” Louis told Zayn distractedly, unable to tear his eyes from the pictures on the wall.

Zayn hummed, noncommittal.

A crease appeared between Louis’ eyebrows, growing deeper with every passing minute as he recognized several views of Paris. His breath quickened when he saw a photograph of a familiar man at a piano surrounded by distinctive oriental decor. “These are—”

Louis broke off when he caught sight of the next photograph. It was the center piece of the exhibition: Harry’s studio in Paris, the soft afternoon light coming in through the window giving it a dreamlike atmosphere. And there was Louis, sitting on the deep window ledge that was wide enough to serve as a window seat for someone of his build: he had one knee folded to his chest and the other down, toes trailing the floor; nude except for the white sheet wound carelessly around his middle. The breeze was blowing his hair back and he was looking outside, gaze abstracted, face turned mostly away from the camera so that the sharpness of his features and the dark smudge of his eyelashes were emphasized.

Louis went white, breathing too fast as he stared at the picture on the wall. The hairs at his nape rose and he became aware of someone watching him: a tall man in his thirties who flashed Louis a toothy grin and stepped back into his line of sight when Louis tried to turn away from him.

“I didn’t think I’d get to meet the muse in person,” the man said, laughter in his voice.

Louis wrapped his arms around himself, digging his fingers into his arms.

“If I may introduce myself... I’m Nick. Nick Grimshaw. I have the distinct honor of being the owner of the lab where Harry develops his pictures back in Paris.”

Louis shook his hand numbly but didn’t introduce himself.

“I’m also his friend.”

Louis tried to make a sound but choked.

Nick’s expression was almost pitying before he turned back toward the painting, hip cocked as he contemplated it with exaggerated concentration. “It’s a very nice photograph.” A sly look came into his face as he made a point of catching Louis’ eye. “Although I rather preferred the ones on the bed.”

Louis spluttered, flushing. “Wha—”

“But he said those were _private_ ,” Nick went on in a long-suffering tone. “Pity.”

“I... I have to go,” Louis said, struggling to breathe.

Nick lunged at him and grabbed his upper arm. “Wait!” he said in alarm, scanning the room frantically.

“Louis.”

Louis spun around toward the voice, breath catching in his chest. Harry stood before him, dressed in a sharp suit and new boots; his hair was a little longer, his frame slightly broader, his skin a little more tanned as though he’d been spending time in the sun.

Their eyes met and locked.

“You got the invitation. You came,” Harry breathed.

Louis ran. He pushed through the crowd and hurried out of the room, wincing every time he set his left foot down. Throwing a quick glance back he saw Harry struggling to extract himself from a group. Louis rushed down the corridor toward the main entrance, stumbling as his leg buckled and dragged every other step.

“Your coat, sir?”

The doorman’s brow knitted as he took in Louis’ agitated manner.

Louis shook his head, limping down the front stairs to the street. “Get me a cab. Quickly, please,” he said urgently.

“Louis, please!” Harry’s voice called out just as the cab pulled up in front of the building.

The doorman opened the car door for Louis, looking confused as Harry bounded down the stairs, shouting after him.

Louis got into the car and slammed the door shut.

“Please! Louis, please,” Harry panted, looking down at Louis with one hand splayed beseechingly on the car window.

Muted and indistinct Louis could hear the doorman telling Harry off outside the car and the cabbie asking him where they were headed. But his world was reduced to Harry: Harry breathing hard through parted lips and flared nostrils, fingers twitching on the glass, his eyes unwavering on Louis’.

Louis reached for the handle and pushed the door open. Harry heaved a sigh of relief before he hurried to get inside, leaving the doorman to throw his hands up in resignation and walk off back to his post. Louis slid to the end of the seat, as far as possible.

“Louis…” Harry gasped.

Louis turned his head away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sirs? Where to?” the cabbie insisted.

“Where were you going?” Harry asked finally at Louis’ continued silence; he was sitting on the edge of the seat with his body angled toward Louis, gripping the front seat with one hand.

Louis bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. I—” He let out a huff. “I wasn’t going anywhere. I was out with Zayn for the night.”

At that name there was a stiffening of Harry’s posture, his grip tightening so that the leather of the seat creaked.

Louis’ anger flared. “You don’t get to do that!” he hissed. “How long have you been in England? Have you been here all this time?” His voice went high-pitched and loud; Harry glanced at the cab driver in alarm. “You never got in touch. What do you even want with me now?”

Harry breathed out, slow and deliberate, his whole face screwed up in a pained expression. The cabbie driver cleared his throat. Harry opened his eyes and gave an address, looking at Louis carefully as he gave the street and number, but Louis didn’t protest.

They remained in silence as the cab started moving. Harry sat back but didn’t take his eyes off Louis, who twisted his body as much as possible in the seat to turn his back to Harry.

“It’s been _months_ , Harry,” Louis said after a minute, still staring out the window. The undercurrent of hurt was palpable despite the angry tone.

Harry hung his head, his hands curling into fists on his lap. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lou. But I—There were things I had to take care of, first.”

Louis gave a tight shake of his head and didn’t answer.

The cab driver gave a short, awkward cough at the prolonged silence. “Some weather we’re having, eh?”

“It’s cold,” Harry agreed without inflection.

No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

“Where are we?” Louis asked, disconcerted when the cab finally stopped. They were in a residential area, between two rows of brick townhouses, small but neat.

“I’m staying with Liam’s sister and her family,” Harry explained, paying the cabbie and holding the door open for Louis.

A short woman, a little older than them, opened the door. She blinked at Louis in surprise, shooting Harry a look of confusion. “Hello,” she said, a questioning tilt to her voice.

Louis followed Harry up the stairs. Harry opened a door at the end of the hall and motioned for Louis to go in first. Louis edged around him and into the guest room. Although it was a small room, the furniture was robust and the bed looked comfortable with a thick mattress and a pile of blankets. There wasn’t any luggage in sight, or personal possessions except for Harry’s camera and two sketchbooks brimming with loose papers on the tiny desk; charcoal sticks and a square of chamois cloth were strewn across its surface.

“Well?” Louis demanded, when Harry just stared at him, standing in the middle of the room with his arms at his sides and his toes turned inward.

“I found a lawyer,” Harry blurted out.

Louis blinked at him, not understanding.

“Looking through some of my grandma’s letters, I discovered she’d corresponded frequently with one Irving Azoff. I thought I should write to him, because I wasn’t sure if he knew she had passed—she died very suddenly. We started corresponding and it turned out he’s a lawyer. Well, he’s mostly retired now as he’s passing his practice on to his son, but. He’s a very kind man, Irving. At least he was to me. The clients of his opponents in court wouldn’t say the same, I guess.”

“ _Harry._ "

Harry cleared his throat, running a hand over the back of the chair, fidgeting in place. “He helped me with my grandmother’s will. You remember Alphonse had been keeping it from being executed on some legal technicality?”

“I remember,” Louis said shortly, worrying the handle of the crutch with his nails.

“Well Irving got it sorted out.”

“That’s nice. Good for you. Did you inherit a fortune or what?” Louis said impatiently.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, fingers getting stuck in the tangles. “No, I didn’t inherit a fortune. She didn’t have that much to give away, actually. And she left all her jewelry to Gemma.”

Louis bristled. “I still don’t see what any of this has to do with… with us. This doesn’t explain why you stayed away all this time, or why you’re here now.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I wanted to have something to offer you.”

“What?” Louis asked in confusion.

Harry’s grip on the chair tightened, his voice shaking. “I didn’t have anything to offer you. No money. No prospects. Nothing.”

Louis shook his head at him, mouth a thin line. “I told you I didn’t care about that. I told you we’d figure something out together. That I’d help you.”

Harry’s teeth left an imprint on his finger. “It wasn’t fair to you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you having to suffer hardship again on my account. I didn’t want to be a burden to you.”

Louis gaped at him for a moment then took two steps and sank onto the bed, sitting on the edge and scrubbing his palms over his face.

“I wanted to give you everything you deserve. I still can’t do that, because you deserve everything. But my photographs have been very well received. I’ve got buyers already and...” Harry went on.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you either,” Louis choked out, interrupting him.

Harry’s rambling came to an abrupt stop. “What?”

Louis struck the wooden floor with his crutch. “This isn’t a fashion statement, Harry,” he said tightly.

Harry dropped to his knees in front of him. “Lou.”

“I slipped on the wet pavement and sprained my ankle. It was a bad sprain and James says the joint was already weak and it's—” Louis let out a tremulous sigh. “It happened at the start of November and I can hardly put any weight on it still.”

Harry took Louis’ hands in his own.

“I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, but how can you think you could ever be a burden? That it could ever be anything but a pleasure to care for you if it was necessary?”

Louis struggled to take a deep breath and even his voice. “How is it any different to me taking care of you financially?”

“That’s completely different.”

“Is it?” Louis asked wryly.

“Yes. Because this isn’t your fault. It’s not something you can help and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. But I could have done something for myself before. I found myself in that situation because I was lazy and cowardly.”

“Harry, _no_.”

Harry shook his head. “I _was_. You made me brave enough to fight back and to put myself out there. To stop hiding.” He lifted Louis’ hands to his lips. “You saw me before I even saw myself. You trusted me from the start, and you believed in me, and I... I wanted to be someone who deserved that. Someone worthy of you.”

“I’m so proud of you and so mad at you, you bastard,” Louis said with a choked sob. He pulled his hands from Harry’s grasp to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to stop the tears. “It _hurt_ , Harry. I thought you didn’t want me. I wrote to you and you never wrote back.”

Harry jumped to his feet and grabbed the sketchbooks from the desk. Papers flew out, sliding over the floorboards as he knelt back on the floor in front of Louis. He picked out a handful of papers, his hands shaking so much Louis had to take them from him.  He looked down at the drawings, which came into focus as he blinked the wetness from his eyes: charcoal and pencil studies of Louis; detailed and intimate drawings and sketches of his eyes, his hands, the lines of his neck and shoulder, the dips and curves of his body. There were dozens of them.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” Harry said quietly. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Louis. That’s the last thing I ever would have wanted.” His voice broke. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Louis cradled Harry’s wet cheek in his palm and thumbed at his cheek. “All I ever wanted was you. Anywhere. In any way. In every way. Just you,” Louis whispered before leaning in and brushing their lips together.

It was a fleeting kiss. Then Louis rested his forehead against Harry’s with his eyes closed, just breathing.

Harry trembled, struggling to contain himself until a sob of relief burst from his chest and he broke down. “I love you so much, Louis. Let me show you? Please, will you let me show you?” he pleaded, holding Louis’ hand to his cheek.

Louis wiped the wetness under Harry’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve got something to show you.”

“If it’s more drawings I might have to reconsider all of this,” Louis joked with a shaky smile.

Harry gave a watery giggle. “No. Something else. Will you come back to France with me?”

Louis froze. “I—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Harry’s photography in the style of Frank Eugene’s, such as [this](http://c300221.r21.cf1.rackcdn.com/the-world-of-old-photography-frank-eugene-nude-man-with-harp-1908-1910-1398207973_b.png) and [this](http://images.metmuseum.org/CRDImages/ph/web-large/DP263573.jpg).


	13. Chapter 13

Louis sat in his armchair in a blue tartan dressing gown, his feet bare, toes buried in the plush rug, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“Can you say something?” he said, eyes fixed on Zayn who stood by the fireplace with his back to Louis, standing stock still.

“You’re going to go back to him. After he lied to you and then left you thinking he’d forgotten about you. That he didn’t want you,” Zayn intoned, voice so quiet the pop and crackle of the fire merged with his words.

“I love him,” Louis said simply. “And he loves me.”

Zayn whirled around, jaw tight, hands curled into fists. “How can you trust him? After everything.”

Louis gave a long exhalation. “Because I know him. I’ve... seen his heart. As stupid as that sounds.”

“The drawings,” Zayn scoffed.

Louis nodded, unabashed. “You’re an artist. You of all people should understand.”

Zayn slapped a hand on the desk. “What about your position at the newspaper? Your career?”

“I can write in Paris. _Really_ write.”

“So, what—you’re saying Harry’s ‘the key’ you were looking for?” Zayn sneered.

Louis looked at Zayn with an almost pitying expression on his face. “No. I’m saying that when when I’m with him there aren’t locks.”

Zayn shook his head, teeth clenched. “He’s only going to hurt you again.”

“Maybe,” Louis admitted with a shrug. “Sometimes people hurt each other, but it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.” He looked at Zayn straight in the eyes. “Like right now.”

Zayn’s face crumpled a bit. “You’re making a mistake, Louis. England is your home.”

“Harry’s my home.”

Zayn sighed, the fight going out of him. “You’re making a mistake,” he repeated.

Louis got to his feet, balancing himself with one hand on the armrest and stretching his other arm toward Zayn. “If I can’t have your blessing, at least embrace me before I leave,” he said, voice quavering.

Zayn didn’t hesitate, he took a lunging step forward and pulled him into a tight hug. “Good luck,” he whispered.

“Fuck it, I’m not moving to Australia,” Louis blustered, only to press closer to Zayn the next moment, sniffling into his shoulder. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?” he murmured.

Zayn pulled back enough to give Louis a kiss on each cheek, his eyes wet and his hands shaking as he cupped Louis’ face in both hands. “’course I will.”


	14. Chapter 14

The car left the road to turn into a solitary dirt track which wound among a sea of tall grass, vibrant green and speckled with wild flowers. Sunshine reached them in bursts from gaps in the canopy of tall trees that bordered the path.

Soon a house came into view. In the shadow of a towering elm tree stood a compact stone cottage with leaves covering half the front wall almost to the chimney. Two gabled dormer windows revealed a functional attic, although it was otherwise one-story. The roof was made up of clay tiles: gleaming red and sun-faded brown. Flower print curtains could be made out as they got closer, and it was obvious the window frames and shutters had had a fresh coat of blue paint. An assortment of flowers in painted ceramic pots sat by the front door.

When Harry turned off the engine, Louis could hear the gurgle of a nearby stream over the twittering of birds.

“It was my grandmother’s. She left it for me in the will.”

Louis got out of the car, crutch sinking into the thick grass, staring up at the house in front of him in amazement.

“It’s kind of old. From 1822,” Harry said, voice apologetic as he followed Louis outside. “It had been abandoned for a while, so it needed some work. There was a leak—more than one, to be honest. And the plumbing had to be updated, and the flooring changed... But it’s all set now. Mostly.”

“You fixed it up?” Louis breathed, turning to look at Harry, who stood with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets.

Harry nodded. “Liam helped. And Nick lent a hand too. But... yes.”

Louis stared at him, mouth open.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, fingers catching in his curls. “It’s a little draughty,” he admitted, shamefaced. “But I put your office on the south side, so that you’ll get most of the sun, and there’s a fireplace—”

“My office?” Louis cut in, voice hoarse.

Harry gave a helpless nod, eyes wide. “I did this for _you,_ Lou. For us. If you’ll take me back. If you’ll have me.”

Louis glanced up at the house again in wonder. “You built me a house?” he whispered slowly.

Harry gulped. “Kind of? I fixed up the house, because I... I hoped it could... I hope that it can be our home.”

Louis stared at him for a moment then lunged himself at Harry, who automatically spread his arms for Louis. Although he’d braced himself for the impact, they overbalanced and went down. Harry made sure to pull Louis on top of him and let the thick grass cushion his own fall. He hit the ground with an ‘oof’.

“Are you all right? Shit. Sorry, love!” Louis said quickly, rolling off Harry and raising himself up on his arms to look at his face.

“I’m fine,” Harry assured him, lifting his head to squint at Louis with a tentative smile. “So you like it?”

Louis bent down to kiss him, hard and eager, before his mouth stretched into a huge grin. “I love it. I love you. Thank you, Harry. You’re mad, and I love you so, so much.”

Harry laughed, euphoric, spread-eagled out on the grass, staring up at the blue sky for a few seconds before he pulled Louis on top of him, ignoring his weak protests.

“I love you,” he said simply, cupping Louis’ face in his hands.

Louis leaned down for another kiss, this time lingering and tender. “Now show me the house, proper, Harold. Maybe start with the bedroom?”

Harry giggled and kissed him again, and again.


End file.
